


Strong attention to detail

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [9]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, Car Accidents, Cute, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Out of Character, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: PA! Hoon suffers from some post Christmas Blues
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 17
Kudos: 256





	Strong attention to detail

**Author's Note:**

> RE-UPLOAD

Jihoon spends the better part of his Christmas vacation curled up under a blanket, phone in hand, checking his messages and chewing his lips raw, just waiting— _dreading_ the message that says he’s been fired.

It’s bound to come soon, he’s certain—because what else can you expect to happen when you get drunk at the office Christmas party and offer to send you boss _nudes_. He can remember that much of the night and annoyingly nothing else, and he’s sure it’s much, much worse than that. He’s pretty sure he said some other really dumb, really embarrassing stuff to Seungcheol, though hell if he can remember it. Every time he tries to jog his memory there’s just a great big blank. A _worrying_ blank, that he kind of wants to scratch at, because he just knows there's something awful underneath. 

Somewhere between getting out of the lift and waking up in his bed next to Berry Beret, he knows he’s said something monumentally stupid to his boss, and the uncertainty of _what_ is killing him.

He’d woken up fully clothed at least, which had gone a long way in reassuring him that he hadn’t tried to attempt some kind of hilariously awkward, drunken strip-tease. Still though….offering to send his boss sexy selcas is just—oh _god_ , it’s bad.

It’s so, so bad. It’s the worst, most unprofessional thing he’s ever done and Seungcheol has every right to fire his as—

Jihoon very nearly jumps out of his skin when his phone chimes—the ring-tone he reserves sorely for Seungcheol, he notes with an internal wince.

The notification flashes on the screen, and he swipes it down, but there’s no preview of the message. There’s just a picture attachment which is somehow even _more_ worrying. He can’t imagine what Seungcheol would be sending him a picture of—unless it’s a picture of his angry, disappointed face, mouthing the words _‘you’re fired’_ , or a screenshot of a job advertisement for a new PA, _‘To commence immediately’._

Trust Seungcheol to show his creativity when he’s sacking people.

Except, when Jihoon finally scrounges up the courage to tap on the message, he finds himself blinking in surprised confusion.

Seungcheol’s sent him a picture of a cactus, wearing a tiny Santa hat.

 _Huh_ —Jihoon thinks, then feels a smile tugging at his lips when he realises it’s a picture of the cactus Jihoon _bought_ him, wearing a tiny Santa hat.

Jihoon stares at the picture, biting his lip around a pleased grin before typing out his reply.

Seungcheol  
  
Awww!😊  
  
You dressed it in a little Santa hat!  
  
That’s so cute! 🥺  
  


He gets a reply a minute later: 

Seungcheol  
  
That’s so cute! 🥺  
  
I knew you would like it  
  
Merry Christmas Peanut  
  
Hope you're having a good time❤️  
  


Warmth shoots through Jihoon as he stares at the accompanying heart emoji. 

He reads the message a third time, then lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

That really doesn't seem like the kind of message your boss sends you after you offer to send them naughty selcas, does it? No, it really doesn't. It doesn’t seem like a suitable response to the horror of the half-remembered things in his brain.

Maybe Jihoon was drunker than he realised that night? Drunk enough that just maybe he _imagined_ that little detail?

It wouldn’t be the first time; his imagination tends to exaggerate certain details when under the influence of alcohol, so it’s entirely plausible that it fabricated this little scenario too. But instead of being immensely relieved over the whole thing, Jihoon can’t help but feel a little…. _disappointed_?

_What the hell?_

He has no business feeling disappointed that Seungcheol hasn’t asked him to _send nudes._ It’s for the best, he knows, that he hadn't spilled his feelings to Seungcheol in a drunken ramble. The office dynamic is a delicate thing, interconnected in deep and mysterious ways, and any weirdness between him and Seungcheol will most likely affect everyone. If there is a faint little voice in the back of Jihoon's head that keeps wondering what might have happened if Seungcheol had found out, if he returned Jihoon's feelings, if he had texted him 'Send nudes' instead of a sweet picture—well, Jihoon is very good at ignoring anything that might get in the way of his job, little voices included.

* * *

For perhaps the 20th time in the last hour, Seungcheol checks his phone has reception—even though he’d just been _using_ his phone—and then texts his brother. ‘Can you send me a text when you get this.’

The phone buzzes almost immediately, but it’s not a message, it’s an incoming call.

Seungcheol rolls his eyes as he answers because of course Seungmin would completely _fail_ at following simple directions.

“Hello Douchebag. I got your message.” Seungmin says, by way of greeting.

“I told you to text me back, not call me.” Seungcheol huffs, pinching his brow. “Never mind, just, send me a picture message. I need to check my phone’s receiving pictures.”

There’s a noise on the other end of the call that sounds like Seungmin’s talking to someone, then an impatient. “Why?”

Seungcheol isn’t exactly dying to explain himself.

“Just do it.” He huffs and hangs up.

Standing, he strides over to the bar and pours himself a few fingers of whiskey, and thus he’s in a much better mood when his phone buzzes, and he looks down and sees a slightly blurred picture of the Trevi Fountain, all lit up at night and surrounded by throngs of people. Seungmin’s centrefold, sitting on a concrete bench with a busty airhead perched on his lap.

Seungcheol doesn’t recognise her as the last busty airhead Seungmin was sending him pictures of last week, nor the ditzy blonde he brought to their Mother’s Birthday dinner. She must be the new flavour of the month. Week? _Day_?

Seungmin’s got no shame, and he’s never had standards either.

Seungcheol frowns at the accompanying text, “Merry Christmas Asshole”, then quickly types out his customary reply.

Seungmin  
  
Thanks. Be sure to use protection with that thing  
  


Seungmin's replies in his typical slightly dismissive, mostly goading, highly erroneous fashion.

Seungmin  
  
Thanks. Be sure to use protection with that thing  
  
this why erryone things ur the older brother btw  
  


“Grow up.” Seungcheol texts back, before tossing his phone off to the side in a huff.

It’s been three days since he took Jihoon home from the Christmas party—three days of pacing the floor of his apartment, three days of glowering and huffing and checking his phone at regular intervals. Three days of waiting as patiently as he could for Jihoon to send him the sexy thong picture.

Now it’s become clear Jihoon has no intention of sending him _any_ sexy thong pictures, and Seungcheol could laugh at how desperately pathetic he’s been over the whole thing. Of course Jihoon’s not going to send him sexy thong pics, of course. It’s _Jihoon_ for fucks sake—his shy little peanut, a man who can’t handle a single compliment without blushing bright red and hiding his face behind his hands. However surprisingly forward he had behaved that night, it could only have been liquid courage doing the talking. There’s no way a sober, straight-laced Jihoon would ever go through with it in the cold light of day.

And that’s if he even _remembers_ telling Seungcheol about the sexy thong pics. He’d been so off his face by the time Seungcheol got him into bed, it’s likely that he remembers nothing of that night.

Maybe that’s for the best.

It’s probably better for their working relationship that Seungcheol never finds out what Jihoon looks like in a thong, because he’s pretty sure he could never look him in the eye again. Just _knowing_ Jihoon was even wearing the thong he bought him was enough to send his brain spinning, so a full-frontal picture would….

 _Jesus_.

It’s possible he won’t be able to look Jihoon in the eye again anyway, because his brain seems pretty capable of imagining half-naked [Jihoon](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9fb4f17ca87634dcb00bb9c2d93b9c9a/abd34d481221c8f7-79/s640x960/922ec9daac266e833004ad2606b6a4cd3cc926d5.jpg) all on its own.

Knocking back the rest of his drink, Seungcheol sets his tumbler down and reaches for his phone again. He’s planning on switching the damn thing off, because if it’s off he won’t be able to check for updates every few minutes and _more_ importantly, if it’s off, he’ll be less tempted to reach for it later when he’s drunk off his ass and end up sending Jihoon a poorly worded message along the lines of _‘SEND SXEY TONG PICS PLS WNNA WANK’_

Except when he swipes it open, he accidentally swipes open the camera function too, and the camera immediately focuses in on the lone cactus chilling on his windowsill. The cactus Jihoon bought him, because he’s a prickly, unsociable bastard who hates Christmas—but despite that, Jihoon likes him anyway.

Smiling at the thought, Seungcheol leans forward to snap a picture. He considers the words of the message he’s about to send carefully, and then decides on some stupid winky smiling emoji instead. He doesn’t usually instigate random, out of the blue social interactions with people, and Jihoon probably would prefer the stupid emoji anyway.

* * *

Seungcheol’s running over two hours late on Monday morning, which is disappointing but not particularly worrisome. There have been occasions that Seungcheol arrives so late he has to head straight to the 9:30am manager’s meeting before he even steps foot in his office, and Jihoon suspects the traffic collision on the expressway must have really slowed him down today.

So Jihoon covers the plate of cookies so they don’t dry out and dumps the now cold cup of coffee down the sink, grinning slightly at the sign that's still taped to the fridge, _‘If you leave any food in here I will assume it is for me and I will eat it. Cheol x’_.

Returning to his desk, he resumes his work, weeding though the shit ton of emails that have built up over the Christmas vacation and pencilling the important dates into Seungcheol’s schedule.

By 11:05 am, there’s still no sign of Seungcheol and Jihoon begins to fret.

 _Traffic must have been worse than I thought—_ He thinks, flipping on the radio and setting the volume low.

The days headlines are followed by a brief weather report, followed by a traffic update.

_Well, if you're on the roads listening to this, you already know that traffic is pretty much a mess everywhere. Traffic is crawling along the Seohaean expressway from Mokpo to downtown Seoul. Vehicles crossing the Wonhyo bridge are gridlocked both eastbound and westbound, and the riverside expressway is stop-and-go from Mapo through Yeongdeungpo. National route 6 is slow through the city, then clears out at Manseok Overpass. If that weren't bad enough, that beautiful Lamborghini Veneno some rich idiot crashed driving 30 miles over the speed limit, is still blocking two lanes of the Gyeongbu expressway, causing a 15-minute backup for cars waiting to—_

Jihoon leaps out of his seat before he listens to another word, because there’s only a handful of people in the city that drive raucously expensive sports cars and there’s only one person reckless enough to drive it at top speeds in the middle of winter.

* * *

Seungcheol doesn’t know why he’s here.

It wasn’t even _that_ bad an accident—just a few stitches on his forehead and a dislocated collarbone, but that was easily fixed and the Morphine they gave him quickly dulled the worst of the discomfort. So really, he’s pretty much ready to go home, pop two aspirin, make himself a G&T and pass out amid an ocean of paperwork. 

But _apparently_ , since he took a knock on the head and passed out in the ambulance, the doctors aren’t happy about letting him go. And okay, yeah—his head does _kind of_ hurt and there are a few nasty grazes from where he flew through the windscreen and _ow, shit_ —it hurts to breathe deeply. But other than that—he’s _fine_.

Seriously.

An overnight stay they're threatening him with is completely unwarranted.

He’d discharge himself if he could just get his hands on a spare change of clothes, or at least convince the nurse to give him his phone back so he can call a limo service. But he doesn’t know where that mean old bitch disappeared to, and he’s already been twice threatened with sedation if he tries to leave the room again, so he’s resigned to waiting a _little_ longer at least.

Which sucks.

He hates taking a day off work—like _really_ hates it. That gives room for boredom, which gives room for thinking, and an idle mind is never good for a guy like him.

He asks about his phone again when a doctor comes to check on him a while later, but the guy just ignores him in favour of prodding him for a bit, shining a light in his eyes, and generally doing his best to be a total condescending jerk-wad over the top of his glasses. He checks the IV is pumping a clear liquid into Seungcheol’s one arm, checks the catheter is pumping it out the other direction, (nothing like hospitals for being completely emasculating) then he leaves Seungcheol alone, presumably in the hope that he’ll get better via osmosis or something.

 _Asshole_.

Seungcheol’s going to sue absolutely fucking _everyone_ on this ward after they help him get back on his feet.

He’s glaring at the pigeons outside his window when he hears the door swing open, the sound of the doctor leading someone into the room shortly after. Footsteps approach the bed, but stop just beyond the curtain as the doctor begins flipping through his medical notes and discussing his prognosis with the visitor.

With the curtain drawn, Seungcheol can’t quite see who’s arrived, but their voice sounds familiar and the 13-inch heels he can see from under the curtain are even _more_ telling.

“Janna?”

Suddenly the curtains part, and _fuck,_ it's his ex-wife alright. Which is never a good start, or a good end to anyone's day.

Seungcheol can practically hear his bank account emptying. 

She steps closer to the bed, arms crossed over her chest and a seemingly infuriated expression on her face. Seungcheol says _seemingly_ because he can't really see clearly. He assumes that's because of the concussion. But when he rubs his eyes and tries to focus, he finds Janna is _indeed_ furious—staring at him with solemnity only a furious ex-wife could muster.

She gives him a slow once over, and if it had been another time and place Seungcheol would've made a cheeky comment about it, but there is nothing leery about Janna's gaze now. She's analysing, checking over the bruises that colour Seungcheol's body and frowning deeper when she sees the IV attached to his arm.

“I crashed my car.” Seungcheol offers as an explanation but that only makes Janna look even _more_ irritated. She’s tapping her foot, a sure sign she is well and truly angry, and when her eyes find Seungcheol’s, they’re as hard and disapproving as Seungcheol’s ever seen them.

He waits the staring contest out with his usual patience.

Eventually Janna breathes an exaggerated sigh and raises her arms. "Oh, c’mere you big idiot!"

As soon as Seungcheol is in range, she wraps her arms around his shoulders in a crushing hug.

"Ow," Seungcheol says, but makes no effort to extricate himself.

“I always _knew_ you’d put yourself in an early grave with your crazy driving,” Janna mutters when she withdraws, smacking him lightly on the back of the head. “Thank god this time the only fatality was your stupid _car_.”

“It’s not my fault I hit a patch of black ice.” Seungcheol protests, breath catching in his throat as he pushes himself upright.

He tries to disguise his pained inhalation with a cough, though that only serves to increase the pressure on his ribs. 

“It _is_ when you’re driving at breakneck speeds.” Janna counters dryly. She passes him a plastic cup of water as Seungcheol gets the coughing under control, tittering all the while. “What the hell were you thinking driving so fast on such a frosty morning? I know you’re obsessed with your job, but you can’t love it _that_ much. What could you possibly have to look forward to it that stuffy office that warrants breaking the speed limit _twice_ over.”

Seungcheol frowns as he accepts the water, the cup crumpling a little in his shaking hand. He doesn’t have a single honest answer to that question that doesn’t involve _Jihoon_.

“Why are you here anyway?” He asks instead of answering, because Janna shouldn't be in Seoul right now. In fact, last time Seungcheol checked, she should be across the country at her family ranch till the New Year. But instead she’s here, making an annoyed face at him, like the answer is obvious.

“Well it seems like _someone_ didn’t update their emergency contact details since the divorce, so naturally they called me first.” She says, leaning over to snatch up Seungcheol’s clipboard from the end of the bed. She flicks through the sheets of paper, brow furrowed, then reaches the last page, and pauses. Seungcheol’s not sure what she’s looking at, but it makes her sigh. “I happened to be on my way to the airport when I got the call, so I detoured.”

Thoughtful, Seungcheol scratches his stubbled cheek. “Airport, huh? I hope I didn’t ruin your plans.”

Janna rolls her eyes, like Seungcheol asked a stupid question again, but she does that a lot so Seungcheol doesn't feel all that offended.

“It was nothing important. I’m just glad you’re all right.” She admits, a coquettish smile flitting across her lips as she shrugs out of her coat. Folding it over the back of a chair, she tilts her head, perusing him at her leisure. “Well—you’ve seen better days, sure, but from the pictures of the crash I’ve seen on the news, it could have been much worse Cheollie. Count yourself lucky you’ll be walking out of here with a dislocated shoulder and a couple of scratches.”

Seungcheol looks at her, all seriousness.

“I made the _news_?”

“Your Lamborghini did.” Janna says, coming around to perch on the edge of the visitors chair, folding her hands together in front of her lap. Her mouth twitches, like she wants to laugh. “I believe the headline was ‘Rich idiot crashes beautiful car’—a slow news day, _obviously_ , but people are already laying flowers at the crash site in mourning.”

Seungcheol feels his jaw drop, “But I’m still alive!”

“Oh _honey_ —" Warmth sparks in Janna eyes when she smiles, but she doesn't sound sympathetic in the least. “I’m pretty sure it’s your car they’re mourning.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and looks away, but doesn’t reply.

It _was_ a beautiful car—a one of a kind, custom made, honest to god sex on _wheels_ behemoth of horsepower. But now it’s gone, and his insurance payments are going to go through the roof and he’s probably going to lose his licence and all because he couldn’t wait to boop Jihoon on the nose.

They sit in silence for a moment, Janna fiddling with the side rail of the bed while Seungcheol tries to peel the nicotine patch off his bicep, without yanking too hard on his IV.

“Stop messing with that! It’s probably there for a very good reason.” Janna snaps, once he manages to peel back one corner.

Seungcheol grits his teeth and continues toying with it, until Janna smacks his hand away.

“Jesus, would you relax, it’s just a nicotine patch, okay, and it’s making my skin itch. I think I’m allergic to the adhesive or something.”

Janna’s face shifts from reprimanding to something soft and slack and stunned, almost within a bare second. “You? _You’ve_ quit smoking? _Seriously_?”

Seungcheol doesn’t know why she looks so surprised about it. He’s always been meaning to quit, and other than being a bit jittery, he has to admit he feels better for it. His migraines are less frequent, his skin looks clearer, and _okay_ , he’s gained a little weight—big whoop, but that’s only because his taste buds are fully functioning again and Jihoon has scheduled him three square meals a day.

“Yep.” He says, peeling the Ni-Quitin patch off and aiming for the trash. “Almost three months now.”

Janna stares at him, eyebrows raised, like he’d just announced he was going to give up his job and become an alpaca farmer, start sourcing his own milk and cheese and live in the hills of Switzerland.

“I don’t get it, I’ve been trying to get you to quit for _years_ , what changed?”

Slanting her a sly look, Seungcheol grins, “Believe it or not, there is someone out there more emotionally manipulative than you.”

Janna gets bright-eyed and interested, the same expression she probably has when gossiping with her girlfriends. “ _Really_? Tell me _more.”_

Seungcheol shakes his head; it's way too early for one of these slippery slope conversations with Janna.

“Make yourself useful first, and bring me a newspaper. If need to keep an eye on our stock value.”

* * *

Jihoon doesn’t remember much of his journey to the hospital. He was down on the street and hailing a cab before he even knew what hospital he was headed to, then had to scramble and make half a dozen calls to find out which before his cab driver got impatient. But that’s as far as he remembers. The rest of it’s an indistinct blur of dread and nauseating worry and horrific imagery flashing through his mind, that when he finally reaches the Asan Medical Centre, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be sick.

When he asks for Seungcheol at the reception desk it’s in a breathless, agitated rush, and the two nurses in attendance just stare at him in bewildered silence.

“I need to find Choi Seungcheol! He’s my boss! He was admitted this morning! A car crash on the expressway! He—he drives a really nice car.” He tries again.

The nurses share the same bewildered look with each other, then one of them leans in and speaks gently. “Sweetie, could you please talk a little slower. I can see you’re very anxious, and you’re probably in shock, but we can’t understand what you’re meow…what you’re _saying_. Are you lost?”

Jihoon takes a deep breath and gathers himself, then pulls out his phone and shows them the picture of the crashed car on the news.

“Ohh.” The nurses smile knowingly at each other and nod. “Rich idiot in the private wing.”

Jihoon frowns at them, but they just pat him on the head and direct him to a room on the third floor.

Frozen for a split-second, Jihoon takes a deep breath and forces his legs to move. But once he starts moving, he can’t seem to slow down. He darts around orderlies and their trays, rushing through the corridors and up the steps, heedless of everything and everyone around him until he bursts through the hospital room at the end of the corridor.

Seungcheol’s reclining on the hospital bed, newspaper in hand and ever-present frown in place. He doesn’t respond to Jihoon’s sudden intrusion beyond a single raised eyebrow.

“Seungcheol you’re okay!” Jihoon squeaks in a single, excitable rush once he enters the room. And okay, his brain-to-mouth filter is not exactly engaged, but he’s focused on more important things than verbal coherence right now. “I saw your car on the news! I—I came as fast as I could! You poor, poor man! You look so hurt! But you’re alive and that’s what’s important! Oh my god, I was so worried!”

The raised eyebrow melts seamlessly into a long-suffering expression as Seungcheol flips his paper closed and tosses it aside. “Peanut—we talked about this. When you get excitable and talk really fast, you sound like a tiny hyperactive kitten and nobody can understand what you’re saying.”

Seungcheol’s obviously feeling well enough to tease him, but Jihoon can still far too easily picture a different outcome. Seungcheol bloodied. Seungcheol's eyes closed and refusing to open. And the fearful flashes are enough to twist his heart up dreadfully, tighten his chest into knots of refusal.

Jihoon gives up trying to express his worry with words and just rushes over to his side. He’s not sure if it’s safe to hug Seungcheol, since most of his torso is wrapped in thick layers of gauze and his left shoulder is one giant, ugly bruise. So after a moment of indecision, he settles for looping his arms around Seungcheol’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder and just _breathing_.

Breathing like he’s trying to drown himself in the scent of Seungcheol’s skin.

“I thought you’d—you’d _died_.”

Seungcheol stiffens in surprise for a second, then Jihoon feels his hand pressing between into his shoulder blades, warm and reassuring, pulling him closer. Jihoon just clutches him back, listening to the papery rustle of Seungcheol's hospital gown as he squeezes closer, closing his eyes against the incandescent white. His face feels hot in the curve of Seungcheol’s throat, and he can feel himself swallowing hard around all the tears he's trying not to cry around him.

Seungcheol makes a small noise, like a breathless laugh. “Aww, hey, baby. It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Jihoon shakes his head faintly, words slurring as he murmurs, “But you’re covered in bandages!”

“Meow mew mew mew meow?” Seungcheol says with a weak chuckle. “Is that what you said? Cause that’s all I heard Peanut. Take a deep breath, _relax_ , speak a little slower. Remember, I don’t speak cat.”

Jihoon takes a deep breath and it shakes right through him before he says, “You don’t look fine. You’re covered in bandages.”

“It’s just strapping for my ribs. I think I cracked a few. “He holds up the button attached to the IV pump at the side of the bed. “But whatever this shit’s helping. I hardly feel a thing.”

Jihoon's still sick and terrified enough that he ignores the humiliating sting of tears in his eyes, the way his hand fists tightly in the hospital gown Seungcheol is wearing as he rests his head on his chest. Seungcheol rests a hand closed over the back of Jihoon's neck, hot against the clammy cold of Jihoon's skin, and even though he’s grinning like an idiot, chuckling at Jihoon’s melodrama, Jihoon's still grateful for the reminder that this is reality—Seungcheol’s alive. He’s alive and everything’s going to be okay.

“Hey—no crying, alright.” There is chiding in Seungcheol's tone, but something kinder in his eyes as he pokes at Jihoon’s cheek gently. “Seeing you sad makes _me_ feel like shit, so c’mon. Turn that frown upside down.”

Jihoon dredges up a smile for him, dimpling obligingly under the touch. He doesn’t really feel like smiling, but his almost-smile transforms into a real one when Seungcheol thumbs his dimple, murmuring, “ _That’s_ better. There’s my little Peanut.”

There’s something meltingly intimate in his eyes, something soft and so fucking _fond_ , that it makes Jihoon's skin itch, makes him feel shy all over, and he can’t help but press his face into Seungcheol’s shoulder to conceal his blush.

Rubbing away the stinging in his eyes, Jihoon looks off to the side, and through the blur, he suddenly realises that they’re not alone.

There’s another person in room. A woman—a pretty brunette, with big dark eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut—perched on the window sill, staring at them with undisguised fascination.

She definitely isn’t a nurse, judging by those black leather skyscraper boots she’s wearing, with points that could gut a man, and a skirt so snug it would be impractical for rushing around a busy hospital.

So that must make her a visitor.

Jihoon opens his mouth and pauses, feels himself go hot with embarrassment, shy suddenly in the face of one of Seungcheol’s friends. His voice abandons him momentarily before he clears his throat and whispers, “Uhm, Seungcheol? There’s a lady staring at us.”

Seungcheol's hand stops moving on his neck. It just sort of clamps into stillness as his eyes widen significantly and he snaps his head to the side.

“Aw crap,” He grunts, catching sight of the woman. His head thumps against the pillow as he groans, “I forgot you were here.”

The woman laughs, sudden and suddenly loud in the quiet before and slips off her perch to step closer. It doesn’t seem like Seungcheol’s keen to lead the introductions, so Jihoon carefully extricates himself from his arms and rounds the bed to introduce himself.

“I’m sorry. I—I didn’t realise anyone else was here. Hello, I’m Lee Jihoon, it’s nice to meet you,” He says holding his hand out.

“Inch-resting,” The woman murmurs as she shakes his hand. She squints at him, cocking her head, making no effort to conceal her evaluation. “You’re his PA, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Jihoon says, sunny smile bursting forth. “And you are…?”

“Not important.” Seungcheol interjects gruffly.

The woman’s jaw drops a little in surprise, and she shakes her head as though to clear it. “ _Excuse_ me? Not important?” She echoes incredulously. “I think putting up with your grumpy ass through four years of marriage makes me pretty damn important.”

Jihoon feels his face turn to stone. 

He doesn't know what's happening, he doesn't understand it at all, the sharp wrench of pain in his chest, the numb shock and sudden grief, the way he feels like the earth has moved beneath his feet. He’s still smiling politely, he can feel the expression pull taut across his face, but mostly he feels like someone has punched him in the solar plexus, all the air evaporated from his lungs.

_Marriage?_

_This...this woman is Seungcheol's wife?_

He suddenly feels like 'the other woman', the interloper, and it's all so horribly wrong. Quietly, he shuffles off to the side as he listens to them bicker with each other like, _well_ —like an old married couple and he swallows hard around the lump in his throat as Seungcheol sighs, and finally turns eyes on him.

“Fine. Jihoon—this is Janna, the bane of my existence. Janna—this is Jihoon, my peanut assistant. There, you happy? Can you go now?”

Janna glares and flips back her hair. “Unbelievable. I cancelled a holiday to rush to your side, you ungrateful shithead.”

Seungcheol snorts out a harsh laugh. “Oh _please_ Janna. Your entire _life_ is one giant holiday. I know, I pay for it.”

Janna’s expression turns squinty and offended. She turns from Seungcheol then, offering Jihoon a warm smile and speaking in a kinder voice, “I hope he isn’t this much of an asshole at work too.”

Jihoon keeps swallowing around the ball in his throat but it won't go away. “No, he’s a really nice boss. I mean, _some_ people think he’s mean, but I don’t. Except maybe when he gets migraines. When he gets a migraine, he can be really grumpy, and he can say things he doesn’t mean to. Mean things. But when he’s not grumpy, he’s really, really sweet—and it more than makes up for all the grumpiness.”

He doesn’t think he’s said anything too crazy or outlandish, but Janna claps a hand over her mouth in shock. There are tears in her eyes too—and her face scrunches up a little like she’s seconds away from crying. But before Jihoon can get properly worried about it, she takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly and says, “Oh my god. You are the cutest little man I have ever seen.”

Jihoon rubs a hand against the back of his neck, shifting his weight to his other foot. It's kind of an odd comment for Janna to make considering he's just met Jihoon, but Jihoon's got too many other things on his mind to do more than register its strangeness in passing. That is until Janna starts pinching his cheeks.

His facial cheeks.

Like—really, really hard. Hard enough that Jihoon can’t stifle his little “Ow,” of discomfort.

“Will you stop manhandling him!” Seungcheol barks from somewhere behind them. Jihoon can hear a rustling of sheets that says he’s trying to climb out of the bed to put a stop to all the cheek pinching. “He’s not yours to manhandle, alright, let him go.”

Pointedly ignoring him, Janna just smiles at Jihoon indulgently, and runs a hand through his bangs. Then turning him towards Seungcheol, she says, “Look how small he is Cheollie. Small enough to fit in my bag. Can I keep him?”

“NO!” Seungcheol growls, spots of red on his cheeks in fury. “Now, would you please, fuck off.”

Ignoring that with impressive grace, Janna looks Jihoon up and down and sighs. “I should have known he’d be terrible at sharing. Oh well, can’t say I blame him. I’ll just go harass the doctor for an update, shall I?” She winks, pinching Jihoon on the cheek once more, before she darts across the room.

Jihoon's attention shifts almost immediately back to Seungcheol, who is scowling pointedly at him. The look doesn't particularly trouble Jihoon, and he knows he's pretty far gone on Seungcheol because he actually finds it kind of endearing.

“She seems nice.” Jihoon says, purposefully light as he steps closer and smooths out the folds of the hospital blanket.

Seungcheol snorts loudly and shakes his head. “Easy for you to say when you’ve just met her. I’ve known her for twelve years and I can guarantee you she’s a complete pain in the ass.” He blusters, voice gruff with insincerity.

Jihoon takes a moment to tidy the clutter of Seungcheol’s personal items languishing on the small side table, then fluffs his pillows. Then, while he’s at it, he whips out his trusty first-aid kit and presses a plaster, gently, over the nasty cut on Seungcheol’s forehead. He doesn’t need one exactly, but Jihoon can’t help himself, and the grizzly line of stiches look so much better when they’re hidden behind a pretty Hello Kitty band-aid.

Seungcheol glowers at him of course, hands crossed over his chest, but for once he’s failing on the intimidating front. It’s hard to be intimidated by your scary boss when he’s pouting like a child and his bangs are flopping into his face in a crushingly adorable manner. If he could be sure Seungcheol wouldn't fire him for it, Jihoon would very much like to boop him on the nose right now.

He settles for combing Seungcheol’s hair back with his fingers, smiling as Seungcheol sighs softly and shuts his eyes.

Jihoon tries not to stare at the line of his throat, the faint, late-day stubble gathering at the line of his jaw, and so he looks down at his hands instead, at the scrapes across his knuckles and the dark bruising where the IV line punctures his wrist.

“Can I get you anything?”

Seungcheol cracks open one eye and grins at him, a little rueful, and closes a hand around his wrist. 

“Nah, I’m good. Got everything I need.” He says, squeezing Jihoon’s hand in his: easy, proprietary.

Jihoon is used to a flicker of heat under the skin when Seungcheol touches him, but he can't enjoy it today. All he can think about is how Seungcheol is _married_ —how he never thought to share that information once the entire time they’ve been working together. Even though they’re just holding hands, an innocent gesture to an outside observer, it doesn’t feel like one to Jihoon, and he is compelled to extricate his hand from Seungcheol’s and take a step back.

“What’s wrong?” Seungcheol asks, a sudden, sharp awareness in his voice.

Jihoon swallows hard, hard enough to distract from the wrench in his chest, the flurry of things he wants to say to that, “N-nothing. I just….I think maybe I should head back to the office and let everyone know how you’re doing. I kind of rushed out of there without telling anyone where I was going, and I don’t think they know what’s happened.”

“No—don’t go.” Seungcheol blurts out suddenly, reaching out and tangling a hand in Jihoon's sweater vest. “Just stay a while longer. I hate hospitals—I don’t want to be left alone here.”

Jihoon’s mouth tightens, unconvinced.

“But Ms Janna is just outside. I can go fetch her for you.”

Seungcheol snorts, his laugh turning into a cough that rattles his healing ribs. “ _Please_ —she’s the last person I want around me when I’m like this. If she knew how concussed I was, she’d probably force a pen in my hand and have me sign over the entire business in her name. No, you have to stay. You’re my last line of defence. You can paralyse her with your soulful kitten eyes, stop her from smothering me with a pillow when I drift off to sleep.” He hisses, with a note of what sounds like genuine fear in his voice.

“I don’t understand.” Jihoon says, more to himself than anything. “Didn’t you marry her? Why would you marry someone so evil?”

Seungcheol looks at him a moment, then bursts out laughing.

“She’s not _actually_ going to smother me with a pillow Peanut. That was a joke. But she _is_ going to bully me, mercilessly, until I smother _myself_ with a pillow. That’s why you have to stay—you’re the only one who sticks up for me.” he says, looking painfully serious about it in a way that makes Jihoon’s heart run just a little too fast.

“Okay, I’ll stay.” He whispers, offering Seungcheol a tentative smile.

Even though he should be making every effort to put some distance between them, he can’t help but give in, to step closer to the bed and stroke his fingers through the most egregiously ruffled portion of Seungcheol’s hair. All the reasons it’s a stupid idea aren’t fading, of course; if anything, they’re multiplying, crowding into Jihoon’s head until he’s almost feeling suffocated by logic. But Seungcheol does seem genuinely desperate for him to stay, and maybe it is pathetic, but Jihoon would rather have these moments with Seungcheol than nothing at all.

“I don’t think you can have any caffeine yet, but how about I go fetch you some yummy hot chocolate? Hmm? I think I saw a Starbucks in the foyer downstairs.” Jihoon suggests.

Seungcheol pulls a conflicted expression, like he doesn’t appreciate having to choose between hair stroking and delicious hot chocolate.

“Will you come back right away?”

Jihoon can’t help but giggle. “Of course. I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

It’s enough reassurance to shake away some of the tension that coiled up Seungcheol’s arms and shoulders, and he tilts his head into Jihoon’s stroking fingers, almost like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. “Okay then.”

* * *

Janna loiters at the Nurses station for as long as she can, making eyes at the doctors that pass by. Making eyes at the nurses too. She’s always been an equal opportunities kind of woman, so she makes eyes at the elderly gentlemen being wheeled around in a wheelchair, who promptly goes into cardiac arrest.

Stopping by a vending machine to grab a bar of chocolate, she remembers she doesn’t have her purse with her, so amps up her charm to pageant queen proportions and makes eyes at an orderly standing nearby until he offers to buy her one. That’s how powerful her eyes are. Although it might have something to do with how the first three buttons of her blouse have popped open without her noticing.

Whatever. She’s choosing to believe it was all because of her _eyes_.

She snacks on her bar of Carmac on her way back to the private wing, making sure to dispose of the evidence before approaching Seungcheol’s room. She’s never been good at sharing stuff either, and her ex-husband has a surprising sugar addiction for someone who still looks like he stepped out of a beefcake magazine.

When Janna reaches the end of the hallway, the door to Seungcheol’s room is open just a fraction, a thin sliver of light escaping out into the dimmed hallway.

She can hear low voices going back and forth. Seungcheol and his PA, and when he pushes the door open a little further, she almost bursts out laughing at the sight that greets her.

Seungcheol’s sitting up in the bed—looking a little more comfortable than when she left. The pillows behind his back seem to have multiplied and the hospital sheet draped over his legs has been straightened out and tucked in around him neatly. His hair is looking neater too, like someone actually took the time to comb the wild mess out of it, and if Janna’s not mistaken—that’s a Hello Kitty band-aid on his forehead.

Janna’s pretty sure there hadn’t been a bandage there before, and definitely not a Hello Kitty one. But the red and white band-aid is unmistakable now, covering the ugly looking scrape near his hairline and making it look like Seungcheol’s wearing a little _bow_.

It’s both hilarious and adorable, and Janna knows exactly who’s responsible: the tiny, precious little kitten fluttering around Seungcheol’s bedside like Florence Nightingale. As Janna watches, he takes Seungcheol’s temperature with a Tsum Tsum thermometer he clearly brought with him, fluffs Seungcheol’s pillows, then picks up a steaming cup of hot chocolate and blows air over it. And though Seungcheol still has one perfectly functional arm, Jihoon then proceeds to hold the cup up to his lips, helping him take slow, measured sips.

Seungcheol kicks at his sheets impatiently after a few minutes, like the pure, unadulterated drama queen he is.

“Aw, C’mon Peanut. I was perfectly capable of drinking hot beverages _without_ giving myself third degree burns before you came along. Why should that change now?”

Jihoon sits carefully on the edge of the bed, like he’s worried that he’ll hurt Seungcheol if he makes the mattress shift too much. 

“The painkillers might be numbing your senses. I don’t want you to drink it too quickly and scald your mouth without realising it.” He meows/murmurs.

Seungcheol snorts loudly, but Janna can hear the smile he is trying to keep out of his voice and off his face, and she can’t help but wonder if maybe things would've turned out differently between them, had she been better at reading those things when they were married.

Back then, there were times she was pretty sure Seungcheol had all feelings surgically excised with how cold and distant he could be. And given the people he'd had in his life, it was a small miracle he'd been able to care for anyone at all. But she knows better now— _has_ known since they signed their divorce papers that Seungcheol is very, very good at hiding his feelings, at putting on masks and maintaining them. He might not always show his emotions in reasonable ways, but it’s good to know he still _has them._

Watching him with Jihoon now is proof of that.

Seungcheol, Janna has noticed, doesn’t shatter his painstakingly cultivated super-rich-asshole veneer for just anyone—yet, here he is, content as can be, letting Jihoon fuss over him, letting Jihoon run his fingers through his hair, even _nuzzling_ up into the palm of his hand, and _fuck_ —It’s too sweet, too adorable, too…

Janna’s going to _have_ to interrupt them before they give her diabetes.

“Good news!” She bellows, bursting into the room. “I spoke to the doctor, and they’re keeping you in for observation for a few nights.”

Raising an incredulous eyebrow, Seungcheol says, “That’s not good news. That’s shitty news.”

“I meant good news for your _employees_.” Janna flashes Seungcheol her most obnoxious and smarmy smile, “A few days without your ugly mug in their faces will probably feel like a Christmas bonus.”

It’s cruel to tease him, but Janna just can’t help herself. Especially when Seungcheol’s mouth curls into an unhappy pout, and he slumps back into the pillows in a huff.

Jihoon frowns at her pointedly, bristling up a little. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear he wants to, that he doesn’t appreciate _anyone_ poking fun at Seungcheol. Maybe it’s because Seungcheol looks genuinely miserable, lying there, covered in scrapes and bruises and bandages and hair that's point due west—but Janna gets the feeling leaping to Seungcheol’s defence is somewhat of a full-time job for Jihoon?

She’d really like to see how far that devotion extends, so she prods at Seungcheol a little further—making a few throwaway comments about his hair, _‘Are those grey’s around your temples?’_ , his face, _‘You should make an appointment with my dermatologist, you’re getting wrinkle lines’_ , his body, _‘I thought you were on a diet? You’ve definitely gained weight’_ and—oh, oh!

Jihoon is _so_ much more adorable when he’s angry. 

“Stop it!” He huffs, standing straight, hands resting firmly on his hips. “Stop saying mean things to him.”

Pretending to be cowed, Janna shrinks back in her seat. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Seungcheol, who knows better than to take any of Janna’s disparaging comments to heart, chuckles and reaches a hand out to cup Jihoon’s elbow, draw him in again. “Ignore her Peanut. She gets a kick out of people’s reactions to her bitchiness. Don’t feed her.”

Jihoon pouts and returns to Seungcheol’s side obligingly. Though he keeps shooting Janna furtive glances that seem to say _, ‘You’re a big meany, and I don’t like you.’_

Which is a surprising first for Janna; usually, out of the two of them, it’s _Seungcheol_ who sucks at winning people over to his side.

He’s never been the most likeable of people, never the most socially approachable—in fact, most of the friends he managed to make during their marriage were a result of _Janna’s_ guiding, often tempering, influence. But he must have dialled back the nasty quite a bit if he’s managed to secure sweet, innocent Jihoon to his side. Jihoon who, Janna can’t stifle her amusement upon realising, is still giving her his adorable version of the _evils_.

Not the least bit intimidating. 

He’s obviously not the sort of person who holds grudges for long though, because all it takes is a few warm smiles and one compliment about his sweater vest for him to smile back at her with genuine happiness. All forgiven.

After he leaves to return to work, Janna leans in to Seungcheol’s side and whistles, long and low.

“So, that’s your PA, huh? I can see now why you were in such a rush to get to work this morning.”

There's no obvious reaction from Seungcheol, but Janna knows when she's hit a nerve; the way his jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffen, it's tiny, so well hidden it's nearly invisible, and if Janna hasn't been watching Seungcheol for his tells for a decade now, she wouldn't have even noticed. But she does—so she does what she does best, pushes it a step further.

"What is he? Twenty? Twenty-one? _Nineteen_?"

This earns her a quick, cutting sideways glance. “He’s twenty-three, actually.”

Janna holds up her hands. Yep. Definitely hit a nerve.

"Okay, okay, I was just curious. He seemed young is all.” She says, and at Seungcheol's unwavering glare, adds. “Gotta admit though, it _was_ pretty cute seeing how protective he was of you. I swear he was seconds away from clawing my eyes out when I made that weight comment. And before I came into the room, he was being extra sweet, stroking your hand, blowing cool air on your hot chocolate, patting your lips with his little _Gudetama_ napkin.”

Seungcheol’s scowl eases up, ever so slightly. “He would do that for anyone, okay, not just me.”

Janna tips her head, acknowledging the point. “Perhaps. But I _know_ you Seungcheol—I know you wouldn’t let anyone baby you like that. He’s special, isn’t he?”

Unpleasant surprise flits across Seungcheol’s face, before he reforms his expression into nonchalance.

“Can we just drop it, please. I’m tired.”

Janna has zero interest in dropping the conversation.

“I’m struggling to understand how someone so pure can live in this world. Is he even a real person? And more importantly, how on earth did you even land a PA like that?”

Seungcheol ducks his head, suddenly looking sheepish. He might be faking, but Janna chooses to believe otherwise. “I was holding interviews for the Vice CEO position, and he uhm, he accidentally showed up for a different interview.”

Janna bites back a smile. “And what? You just _made_ him your PA?”

The expression that wins him from Seungcheol can only be described as "mulish." 

“You saw the little sweater vest he was wearing, didn’t you? How could I turn him away?”

Janna cocks an eyebrow at him, struggling not to laugh.

* * *

The Choi Corp board of directors are, as a whole, not the friendliest bunch of people Jihoon’s ever met. And if he’s being completely honest, he’s not entirely sure what purpose they serve. He only knows they’re important because Seungcheol tells him they are, but at the same time Jihoon can’t understand why because they don’t seem to _do_ anything. They’re not architects, they’re not engineers, they don’t even appear on the company payroll, but apparently they work for Choi Corp, and when then big money making decisions need to be made, they get called in.

Usually Jihoon’s interactions with them are limited to tediously long board meetings that he sits quietly through, a few phone calls to arrange said tediously long board meetings, and the occasionally e-mail that usually goes like _‘Please ask Mr Choi to reply to my email or unblock my number. I don’t appreciate being ignored.’_ But since Seungcheol has been hospitalised and effectively out of commission, it’s up to Jihoon to brief the board on his current situation.

He’d kind of been hoping Jeonghan could do it, because Jeonghan possesses a level of authoritative confidence and gravitas Jihoon can only _dream_ of. But Jeonghan’s first step as acting CEO had been to delegate the task to _him_ , apparently because the experience would be very character building or something. Jihoon suspects the real reason is that Jeonghan enjoys interacting with the board as much as Seungcheol does, which is to say, _not at all._ But it's how Jihoon ends up standing at the front of the conference room for what is undoubtedly the most terrifying briefing of his life.

“So uhm, yeah.” Jihoon swallows thickly, “He’s mostly okay, but since he knocked his head, they’re keeping him overnight for observation just to be sure.”

Mrs Park, the hateful battleaxe who’s been chairing the board longer than Jihoon’s been alive is the first to react. She shakes her head, brow furrowed in frustration. “Jesus—what an idiot.”

Mr Bahk, who up until this point hasn’t even pretended to pay attention to the meeting, tapping away on his phone, hums in agreement, “I drove past the crash scene on the way in and I thought to myself, _damn, that’s a nice car, shame someone totalled it_. It didn’t even click with me that it was Seungcheol’s. I mean—there can’t be _that_ many Lamborghini Veneno’s in the city.”

“There’s only nine in the entire _world_.” Mr Jung pipes in, “Two of them belong to Seungcheol.”

“More money than sense clearly.” Another answers, dry as tinder. He’s actually been playing Angry Birds on his iPhone, not even under the table, the whole meeting long—but stops long enough to level a despairing look at Jisoo, “This won’t be good for Choi Corp’s share price when the news gets out, especially if Mr Choi needs time off to recover. If the press release isn’t carefully handled, we could be heading into the last quarter with our lowest share price margin yet.”

There is a chorus of grumbling agreement and grim looks up and down the table, and not for the first time today, Jihoon finds himself getting ready to be really upset with everyone. Upset with what people are prioritising, with how _casually_ people are treating Seungcheol’s accident, like he hadn’t almost _died_. It’s shocking to witness the lack of concern for his boss’ well-being, to listen to everyone talk about him like he’s just some stranger in the news they’ve never met. They’re talking openly about him like he’s not currently bed bound in hospital, covered in bandages, and no one seems to feel like they need to be polite about it either. Opinions are being tossed around like boomerangs and with just as much power to wound.

“Gentleman—please,” Jisoo stands, bringing the back and forth chatter to a halt. “A carefully crafted press release will go live today and should mitigate any concerns over our financial outlook. And as for everything else, this is just a momentary set-back. I assure you, Seungcheol hasn’t taken a day’s sick leave in his life. He’ll be back at the helm by tomorrow, even if it kills him.”

Jihoon feels a hot flash of anger on Seungcheol's behalf.

Yeah, Seungcheol can be a bit _hardcore_ when it comes to work, and there is no question he’s dedicated to his job; he puts in more hours running this company than most of the men in this room have their entire careers—but when he needs time off, he should at _least_ have the support of the HR manager.

“I don’t appreciate your attitude Mr Hong,” Jihoon is surprised to hear himself saying in his outside voice. Doubly surprised to also find he’s also commandeered a stool from somewhere, using it to stand on while he points an accusing finger at everyone. “In fact, I’m appalled by the general attitude in this room. Mr Choi’s just been in an accident—he’s in hospital, he’s dislocated his shoulder and he could have _died_ , and yet, not a single one of you has shown him the tiniest bit of compassion. You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”

A heavy silence falls upon the room.

 _A_ _guilty silence_ —Jihoon hopes.

Except there doesn’t seem to be much remorse in everyone’s expressions, just honest bewilderment. Some of the board members exchange confused looks with each other, shaking their heads and shrugging their shoulders, until finally one of them speaks up.

“Was it just me? Or did anyone else just hear meowing?”

Mr Jung’s hand shoots up, “That’s exactly what I heard!”

“I’ve been saying it all along! He sounds more like a tiny cat then my cat does!” Mrs Kim says.

It digresses from there, into an oddly serious debate of whether Jihoon is in fact, a tiny cat person. Jihoon can hardly believe what he’s hearing—that this is even a topic up for debate. He tries to be firm and speak up, to put an end to this madness, but it only seems to fuel their crazy notions, because some of them point at him, saying “See, he just did it again. He _meowed_.”

It’s officially the weirdest board meeting he’s ever attended, and he’s about five seconds away from storming out of the room when Jeonghan slams his hand against the table. “People, please—we need to focus. It doesn’t matter if Jihoon is a tiny cat person, what matters is what he’s trying to tell us. And I think what he was trying to say is that he’s disappointed by the general attitude of the board. One of our colleagues, our CEO, has been hospitalised and we’re prioritising our financial concerns over his health. He wants us to show a little more compassion, and I think he’s got a point.”

Every eye turns on Jeonghan with pointed disapproval. Well, maybe not disapproval so much as surprise from most of them, followed by a strangely satisfying sheepishness in Jihoon’s direction. Even Jisoo has the decency to look vaguely embarrassed, though he smooths out the expression a moment later with a solemn nod.

“You’re right Jihoon. I believe our priorities have been a little skewed and I apologise. Perhaps we can organise for some flowers or a card to be sent?”

“I’ve already taken care of it.” Jihoon huffs, heading for the door and biting back what he _truly_ wants to say.

It’s an act of supreme self-discipline to go back to their shared office instead of returning to Seungcheol’s hospital bedside, but once Jihoon's there and sitting behind his desk, he doesn't even try to get any work done, electing instead to shop on e-bay for a room diffuser.

It’s not a personal errand per se—it’s just that Seungcheol had been grumbling about how much he hated the smell of disinfectant lingering in his room, and since an open flame, and hence a candle, is absolutely out of the question in a hospital, a room diffuser seems like the most viable option.

He’s completely immersed reading through the product reviews of the item in his cart, that he startles when a hand settles on his shoulder.

“You’ll have to excuse the board.” Jeonghan says, smirking down at him. “Most of them are only sitting where they are because they’re cut-throat heartless bastards. It’s why Seungcheol hired them, and I doubt he’d expect them to care about his well-being as long as they keep doing their jobs.”

Jihoon blows out a frustrated breath through his nose, and swivels his chair in Jeonghan’s direction.

“I know, but it’s not just them. I tried to get some of the staff to sign a Get-well card and most of them don’t seem to care. I bought a huge card for everyone to sign, and I only have like half-a-dozen signatures. I can’t bear to give him a practically empty card.”

Jeonghan makes a thoughtful noise, “Well, I’m pretty good at _forging_ signatures. Give me the card, I could fake a few sweet messages.”

“But I want people to _want_ to sign the card.” Jihoon mutters, mouth pulling into a bitter line. 

Slumping forward over his desk, he rests his forehead against the cool surface, listening as Jeonghan sighs and drags a spare chair over.

“Listen Jihoonie,” Jeonghan begins, turning his chair around, straddling it neatly. “You have to realise not everyone has the same relationship that you have with Seungcheol. And I hate to tell you this, but it’s mostly his fault. He doesn’t exactly give people a chance to get to know him better, and even I only started paying more attention to him because I couldn’t understand why you were crushing on him so hard.”

Squawking, Jihoon says, “I’m not _crushing_ on him. We have a normal, healthy, employer-employee relationship.”

“Right, of course.” Jeonghan retorts, smiling the world's smallest, most indulgent smile. “Incidentally, why do you always draw tiny hearts next to his name when you write out your notes?”

Jihoon doesn’t dignify that with a response, though he does quickly turn over the notepad he was writing his _‘Things to bring_ _💖❤_ _️_ _💖_ _Seungcheol_ _💖❤_ _️_ _💖_ _in hospital’_ list, before Jeonghan can tease him about that too.

“You know,” Jeonghan says in a conversational tone, resting his chin on the back of the chair. “Seungcheol isn’t the kind of guy who would appreciate traditional gestures like flowers and get-well cards anyway. He’s the kind of guy who _hates_ to show weakness—and the idea of people visiting him in hospital, seeing him vulnerable or sick would make him _cringe_.”

“I guess.” Jihoon murmurs, shoulders drooping along with his head.

“ _But_ —” Jeonghan continues, nudging Jihoon playfully. “If there’s one person he _would_ like to have at his bedside—it’s definitely going to be you. Maybe you want to take the rest of the day off, huh? Go keep him company? I think he would like that.”

Managing a weak smile in reply, Jihoon shakes his head.

Just before as he'd been hit by a sudden rush of anger, now he’s hit with something else—something that gives him a sad, cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something that tastes a lot like disappointment.

He’d like nothing more than to be in the hospital right now, at Seungcheol’s side. But every minute he spends there, he risks revealing his true intentions—the inevitable unpleasant questions that _The_ _Mrs Choi_ will surely have.

He could probably excuse the first few visits as just an employee inquiring after the health of his employer. A few more? That could be written off as asking after a beloved colleague that Jihoon has spent a fair amount of time with. Visiting Seungcheol three times a day, bringing him hot chocolate and petting his hair till he falls asleep? Well—there is no excusing this as anything other than what it is. Pathetic longing, and a need to be close to Seungcheol to comfort himself.

It would be laughably obvious to anyone with _eyes_ if he showed up now. As far as anyone’s concerned, he’s done his duty as Seungcheol’s PA, and anything more would be the next-of-kin’s scope of responsibility.

“I’d really like that.” Jihoon finally says, trying on a more sincere smile, “But only immediately family are allowed into the private wing outside visiting hours, and besides, Seungcheol has his wife there to keep him company.”

Jeonghan’s head snaps up so fast that Jihoon thinks it’s going to come off his neck.

“I’m sorry, what?” He replies, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “He’s _married_?”

Jihoon swallows awkwardly. “You didn’t know either, huh?” He laughs, but it comes out sullen. He's been very successfully not thinking about how Seungcheol kept that information from him until this moment, and it makes him feel prickly and hot all over now.

“No, I had no idea.” Jeonghan murmurs, lips sliding into a thin line. Rubbing his jaw, he adds, “I always thought he was too committed to his job to hold down a marriage as well.”

Jihoon's shoulders slump accordingly and he murmurs, barely intelligible, “Her name’s Janna. She’s really pretty too.”

Ignoring him entirely, Jeonghan muses, “I can’t believe that jackass was _married_ this whole time and never told me. What the _hell_ is he playing at?”

A possibility occurs to Jihoon, one that makes his mouth press into a thin, unhappy line. “I uhm, I didn’t realise you guys had something going on.”

Jeonghan looks momentarily taken aback, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, god no. No, we don’t. I just—it’s just that I _know_ he has this vested interest in someone. Someone we uhm, we _both_ know. And the idea of him pursuing this person, while _married_ , well—” He cringes, “I’m a little shocked to be honest. I expected better of him.”

It's among a library of things Jihoon should be smart enough not to ask, but he can't resist, and Jeonghan is so friendly and so familiar and easy that Jihoon asks, “Who is this person he’s interested in?”

The cringe on Jeonghan’s face creases two-fold.

“It’s not really my place to say.” He temporizes, favouring Jihoon with a wan smile. “It would put this person in a really awkward situation and, _well_ , let’s just say it’s someone he works closely with and it’s probably better they never find out.”

Something inside Jihoon pulls itself into a hard knot. He lets it settle there a moment, lets himself recognize it for what it really is: jealousy; which, he decides, pretty much settles the whole question of how he feels about Seungcheol.

He’s….he’s in love with him.

Oh no.

It’s weird how sometimes everyone around you knew the truth before you did.

“But hey,” Jeonghan barks out a wet laugh, still talking away as Jihoon sits in numb silence. “Maybe his marriage is on the rocks or something. Or maybe it’s one of those phony, arranged marriages, that rich people have because it’s mutually beneficial. Although, I can’t imagine _why_ he’d keep it quiet, cause surely the whole point would be to……are you _sure_ he’s married?”

Jihoon’s chest tightens painfully.

Slanting his eyes away, he murmurs, “Yeah. Four years apparently.”

“Woah,” Jeonghan says, drawing the word out. “That’s _wild_.”

* * *

“Mr Choi, I strongly advise against this.”

Seungcheol refuses to be cowed by a kid who barely comes up to his shoulder, so he pushes himself up on his elbows, mostly through a combination of pure will and injured pride. “Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

The doctor glowers at him. "Three of your ribs are broken, and the way you're breathing indicates—"

"Indicates I got catapulted out of my windscreen, kid. I _know_. I _was_ there—it was not a fun time. But you know what’s worse than writing off my four-million-dollar, limited edition car and breaking my ribs? Being stuck in here, with _you_.”

The doctor just purses his mouth, “Just so that we’re clear, I have not declared you fit to leave, and I am not past sedating you to keep you in for further checks.”

“And I’m not past suing your ass if you try.” Seungcheol shoots back, rising to his feet.

It takes him so long to straighten up, he feels approximately two _hundred_ years old. But he’s careful to keep the pain off his face as he does it, smiling tightly through the ache in his ribs—because he’ll be damned if he gives them more excuses to keep him here.

His lungs feel like they are on fire with his first step, and every step he takes after makes his ribs shift painfully. But he keeps going, refusing to look back, and heads in the vague direction of door. It feels like he’s been walking for hours, when in fact, he’s actually only taken five fucking steps. He hasn’t even made it out of the room yet! And all hopes of leaving are suddenly halted when he glances up and finds Jihoon standing in the doorway, looking sad.

“Seungcheol, what are you doing?”

“Discharging myself.” Seungcheol puffs, resisting the urge to manhandle Jihoon out of the way. Not that he could even manage that simple task in his current state; he can hear the rasp in his voice, and he’s having a hard time catching his breath. “I can’t wait around here for the rest of my life.”

“But you can’t discharge yourself, you’re injured!" Jihoon protest. "If the doctor hasn’t given you permission to leave, you _need_ to stay in bed. He’s the expert.”

“I know my own body.” Seungcheol says as vehemently as he can.

“Cheol, please.” Jihoon murmurs, putting a hand on Seungcheol’s arm.

Seungcheol stays put, and Jihoon turns big soulful kitten eyes on him, and there's a standoff for, oh, about five seconds. Then Seungcheol makes a grumpy noise and turns back around.

“Alright, alright—I’m getting back into the bed. Stop looking at me with those eyes.”

* * *

Seungcheol, being the stubborn, prideful man that he is, insists he doesn’t need Jihoon’s help to get back into his bed. Even though it takes him something like eight years to cross the room again. He does let Jihoon help him with the blankets though, and fluff his pillows, and he only grumbles a little when Jihoon changes the Hello Kitty plaster on his forehead for a fresh one.

Jihoon pecks him on the cheek for being good and heeding medical advice, then turns to address the doctor waiting patiently at the foot of the bed.

“Thank you, doctor. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and I hope you can forgive Seungcheol for being rude. It’s just—Seungcheol likes his independence. It’s hard for him to be cooped up in here.”

The doctor looks at him sympathetically. Then a little _less_ sympathetically in Seungcheol’s direction. 

“Yes, I can see that. But he’s not going to do himself any favours by going against medical advice. _Or_ refusing analgesics.”

Jihoon slants Seungcheol a disapproving look, “You’re _refusing_ analgesics?”

Seungcheol looks guilty for all of one millisecond, then puffs up indignantly. “It’s degrading. I don’t want anything forced up my ass.”

The doctor doesn’t roll his eyes, not that Jihoon can tell given the flat lenses in his glasses, but he does sigh deep and a little long sufferingly, “For the last time Mr Choi, anal-gesics are _not_ suppositories. It’s the medical term for _painkillers_.”

Seungcheol’s brow pinches slightly, and his eyes dart from side to side. Jihoon’s familiar with that look—it’s the one he makes when he realises he’s jumped to stupid conclusions and is feeling embarrassed about it. Will he apologise though? Unlikely. Jihoon’s just waiting for him to cross his arms and huff _‘I knew that!’_.

The doctor’s face darkens incrementally. “He’s refusing to eat too, which limits the kind of analges…. _painkillers_ we can offer him.”

“The food tastes like shit.” Seungcheol concludes, clearly torn between glaring at the Doctor and then back at Jihoon. “I swear, If I see another cup of green Jell-O, I’m going to throw myself out the fucking window.”

The doctor just makes a few notes on his clipboard and re-attaches the heart-rate monitor, ignoring Seungcheol’s over-dramatic bitching like a pro. Then he tucks the clipboard under his arm and steps off to the aside.

“We get twice as many admissions during the winter season then we have all year round, and I have a lot of patients to see today Mr Lee. A lot of people who are very ill and I don’t have time to spare to re-stabilise patients who have left on their own accord. So if you can please ask your husband to cooperate with his treatment plan, I would appreciate it.” His eyes dart to Seungcheol in acknowledgment with these words, and Jihoon feels his pulse speed and his face heat.

In his peripheral vision he glimpses the way Seungcheol tenses and sits straighter. But Seungcheol doesn’t correct the thoughtless observation, so it's Jihoon who has to clarify, “Well, uhm, actually, he’s not my husband. He’s my _boss_.”

The doctor blinks, a dubious expression, but his tone is bland when he answers, "I see. Well……you could have fooled me.”

Jihoon flushes, prickly with embarrassment as the doctor steps past him towards the door.

Thankfully, Seungcheol’s expression looks about as uncomfortable as his, and they share an awkward silence for a moment, avoiding each other’s gaze.

Somehow, Jihoon finds his voice again, which comes out sounding perfectly and shockingly calm. “I see the flowers have arrived.” He grins, stepping over to where the vase of blooms he pre-ordered dwarf the windowsill. “They’re so pretty, and really brighten up the room, don’t you think?”

Seungcheol gives him a strange look, sort of intense underneath his eyebrows. "I was pretty sure they’d been sent by accident," he says very seriously, “I wasn’t expecting anyone to send me flowers.”

“They’re from the board,” Jihoon tells him, carrying the vase over, “They were very saddened to hear about your accident.”

“Of course.” Seungcheol slumps back against the pillows, mouth curling into a moue. “Our share prices have plummeted 17% in the last two days, they’re probably shitting their pants.”

Jihoon makes a face at him, “They don’t care about our stock shares Seungcheol. They’re sad because you’ve had a terrible car crash and have been injured.”

Seungcheol laughs _hugely_ at that, trying to hide the fact it probably hurts like a motherfucker.

“Yeah _right_. I know these guys Jihoon—I know they only care about the money lining their pockets.”

Jihoon pouts, and sets the vase on the little pool of sunlight that reaches the bedside table. He unwraps the parcel he brought next, a cookie bouquet, and props it up on the bed so Seungcheol can enjoy the smell the freshly baked cookies.

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow suspiciously at the accompanying card, but he looks intrigued.

“Who’s that from?”

“From the rest of the staff.” Jihoon chirps. 

Grumbling under his breath, Seungcheol reaches over to snag the card out of Jihoon’s hands. His slit-eyed suspicion increases two-fold as he quietly reads the array of greetings and well wishes Jihoon had to practically bribe people into writing.

“What’d you do? Force a gun to their heads?” he says, squinting at the card in disbelief.

“No,” Jihoon huffs. “I’ll have you know they were lining up to sign it.”

Seungcheol gives him one of his patented condescending looks, clearly determined not to be cheered up so easily. “What did you do? Did you give them those soulful kitten eyes, or did you emotionally _bribe_ Jeonghan into forging all these signatures?”

“I’m not the only person who likes you at work, you know. Jeonghan likes you, and Jisoo likes you. Wonwoo and Mingyu signed the card, and so did the janitor. Also, lets not forget about that secret admirers club that write dirty stories about you. When I told them you had been hospitalised, one of them actually burst into tears. They even gave me a poem to read to you, but I’m not going to—cause, well, it was _very_ explicit.”

Seungcheol is quickly giving up on his 'be grumpy at the world' battle, but still manages to sound miffed. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Jihoon leaves him clinging childishly to his sullenness for a moment while he unpacks the rest of the items he brought: a neck pillow, a physiotherapy stress ball, a few magazines, his Nintendo Switch and the room diffuser he picked up on e-bay. Seungcheol cranes his neck forward curiously as each item is revealed, then waves a hand at the thermos Jihoon produces last.

“What’s in that? Is it coffee?”

Jihoon shakes his head, “Nope. It’s Seokmin’s famous chicken stew; he made it especially for you after I told him what happened.” He answers truthfully, unscrewing the thermos to let it cool a little, “He always makes it for me when I’m not feeling well, and he knows how crappy hospital food is, and he said this stew would warm your belly and help you take the medicines.”

That seems to get a more positive reaction out of Seungcheol, at least. A smile tugs the corner of his mouth, and a hint of a dimple appears.

“Hmm, I guess _that_ much is true. Seokmin _is_ a pretty decent guy.”

Jihoon nods, acknowledging the truth in this, then waves his Tupperware box in view. He’s learned, pretty early on in his career as Seungcheol’s PA, that treats are an excellent diversionary tactic.

“And I packed you some other snacks you might like to nibble on. Some cheese straws, olives, crackers, dry roasted nuts and those mini mince pies you like. And oh…a few red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. Your favourite.”

Seungcheol pulls himself up on the pillows, a little unsteadily, and makes grabby hands at the Tupperware box.

“Can—can I have one now?”

Jihoon’s so happy he stayed up late last night icing his cupcakes, because the look on Seungcheol’s face when tempted with his favourite treats is so adorable.

“Only if you finish your stew.”

Seungcheol makes an irate noise, but doesn't slump back into the bed like Jihoon expects him to. He stuffs a pillow behind his back and leans against the headboard, sits quietly for a while, picking at the sheets as Jihoon pours the stew into a little bowl and stirs it.

Then as Jihoon tucks a napkin around the neck of his hospital gown, he stops him with a gentle hand around his wrist.

“Thanks for coming Peanut. It’s uhm, it’s nice to have company, I really hate hospitals.” He says sounding unsteady, eyes blurry. There’s a rawness in his expression that Jihoon has never seen before, not in all the months they’ve known each other, not even when Seungcheol has been his most stressed, and Jihoon is compelled to set the bowl off the side and sit on the edge of the bed, card a hand through Seungcheol's bangs to put them in order.

God—he just wants to take Seungcheol home, take care of him. Yeah, the guy’s married, but is that such bad a thing to want? To love him anyway.

“Why do you hate hospitals so much?” He asks, reaching to pat Seungcheol’s hand instead.

Seungcheol’s brow forms hard creases, but he takes Jihoon’s hand, closes their palms together, lacing their fingers and squeezing tightly like he plans on never letting go.

As Jihoon watches on, his Adam’s apple bobs hard as he swallows.

“I don’t know,” he says, very, very softly, like his voice is caught up in his throat, “I guess it started with my grandfather. He uhm—he got pneumonia one year, when I was young, and got admitted just after Christmas. My mother used to bring us to visit him and he kept saying, I’m getting out soon, and the doctor’s just want to keep me in for a few more days—just to be sure. But every time we saw him, he just looked worse and worse. He never ended up leaving; he spent the last six months of his life in a hospital bed, terrorising the nurses.” He laughs, but he sobers quickly. “I don’t want that to happen to me.”

“That’s not going to happen Seungcheol. You’re not an old man.” Jihoon huffs, feeling irrationally that it’s of the most vital importance that Seungcheol _knows this_.

Seungcheol flashes him a tired grin. “I’m turning 40 in March.”

Jihoon doesn’t even try to hide his answering eye roll. “So? That’s not old. That’s not even mid-life.”

“It sort of is, actually.” Seungcheol breathes out hard, raking a hand through his hair. “At least, for guys in my profession. My father needed early retirement, he had a heart attack at 55 and he was never the same after. Sure he drank like a fish and smoked like a chimney, but it was the stress you know. This _job_. And you know the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and this accident is probably knocked a decade off my lifespan, so 45—that’s when I suspect I’ll kick the bucket.”

A spark of annoyance flickers in Jihoon. He isn't sure why Seungcheol’s sudden concern about his own mortality bothers him, but it does. Especially when Seungcheol says it so frankly, like he’d be totally okay with dropping down dead in the next five seconds.

“That’s ridiculous Seungcheol.” He shoots back. “You’re not a weak old man with pneumonia and you’re not your father either. You look after yourself; you diet, you exercise, and you look really good for your age.”

Seungcheol’s dimples flash out for a moment, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, I’m not. You’re still a young, healthy, virile man, and you’ll probably still look smoking hot when you’re 80, so stop being so..so..so whiny. It’s not a good look on you.”

For a moment, Seungcheol looks positively stunned. It wasn’t exactly what Jihoon planned on saying, but he tucks the resulting look into the back of his mind all the same since he doubts he’ll have the pleasure of seeing it often.

“Smoking hot, huh?” Seungcheol finally says after a long moment of staring.

“Yes, well, "Jihoon fidgets, coughs, shrugs-a whole riot of awkward body language that should hopefully distract Seungcheol from the bright red blush on his face. "It’s how a lot of people around the office describe you.”

Seungcheol laughs, a dry, husky sound. “Oh really? Do they describe me as _virile_ too?”

“The members of Choi Seungcheol admirers club certainly did.” Jihoon murmurs, averting his gaze. 

He wasn’t kidding about that poem. It was certified 18+ content.

* * *

“Did you take part in some kind of hospital room makeover show while I was away?” Janna says, her face appearing over him, long and sparkling earrings catching the light. Her hair is pinned back today and she's glowing with amusement as he glances around Seungcheol’s hospital room.

“Whaddya mean?” Seungcheol huffs, sitting up.

Janna makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the room. “What’s with all the flowers, and the balloons, and those personalised cupcakes? And where’d you get that knitted blanket, and that room diffuser? I’m pretty sure you didn’t have that neck pillow last time I was here, or that massage chair. None of this stuff is standard hospital issue, and oh my god, is that a lobster plushie you’re _cuddling_ with?”

Seungcheol holds the lobster closer, in case Janna tries to confiscate it.

“This is Larry, and he’s filled with lavender scented beads to help me sleep.”

Janna's thin lips curved into a smile that is too affectionate to be truly malicious, but still holds a certain edge of demonic amusement that her face simply can’t seem to avoid. 

" _Cheollie_ ," she coos, levelling him a look from underneath her lashes. “Has Jihoon been visiting you?”

Seungcheol closes his eyes and pretends to be falling asleep. “He may have stopped by yesterday. And this morning……..and then again at lunch.”

Janna lets loose a bark of laughter and plants herself on the bed at Seungcheol's feet, Jimmy Choo’s falling carelessly on the tiles as she toes them off and arranges herself comfortably.

“You know, I’m beginning to think your PA has a little _crush_ on you Cheollie.” She rejoins, easy, non-confrontational, and when Seungcheol elects to glare at her instead of rising to the bait, she just adds, “Spoiling you like this really isn’t part of his job. It’s a personal touch.”

Seungcheol’s tempted to point out that catering to your boss’s needs is part of every PA’s job description, but he knows that doesn’t come close to explaining the things Jihoon does for him. His little peanut has always gone above and beyond in his duties, doing things Seungcheol never expects him too, never even _asked_ for. He’s even more attentive now that’s Seungcheol’s injured—visiting him at the hospital at least three times a day, bringing Seungcheol magazines, books, food, even going as far as lending him Larry and his Nintendo Switch, anything Seungcheol can possibly want to make the time pass more comfortably.

Seungcheol can't help the nudge of guilt, the sense that he's awfully close to taking Jihoon for granted lately—maybe has been this whole time—and in a soft, self-conscious voice he says, “He’s a very thoughtful guy.” Which is true, but also not the truth.

Janna narrows her eyes at him, her entirely too cunning grin still firmly in place.

“So, how long have you and him been – ” she waves her hand in a gesture Seungcheol interprets as _banging like a couple of rabbits._

Seungcheol shifts to sit upright, grits his teeth when white hot pain shoots up his spine; he could do with some more morphine right about now. “We’re not sleeping together, if that’s what you mean.”

This should be the end of it. Asked and answered. But Janna keeps directing these big, speculative glances in Seungcheol's direction, like she thinks he’s holding out on her.

"What?" Seungcheol demands at last.

“Well, why the hell not?” Janna says, with worrying earnestness.

Seungcheol levels her a serious look, resisting the urge to rub at his temples. He has to remind himself that Janna lives in a fantasy world, comparatively divorced of the pressures and expectations the humdrum nine nine-to-five routine thrusts upon you. Sure she has her own little business now, with clients and business partners from all walks of life—but she’s never been responsible for anyone but herself. She doesn’t understand that just because you _want_ something, doesn’t mean you can _have_ it.

“The age difference, for one, he’s seventeen years younger than me. And I’m his boss, for another. I’d be taking advantage if I tried anything.” He states, bluntly cutting to the heart of the matter.

Janna purses her lips. “Those hardly qualify as excuses Seungcheol. CEO’s haven’t been bending their young secretaries over desks since the beginning of time, and I _know_ you. There’s got to be more to it than that.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. It takes him two tries to say, “Jihoon’s not my _secretary_. He’s my PA, okay, it’s different. And, and he’s too important for me to just _use_ like that. I can’t do that to someone I—” he cuts himself off there, shaking his head, exasperated.

It’s stupid. He knows deep inside how he feels, but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“Someone you what?” Janna prompts, gaze unwavering.

Seungcheol clamps his lips together and turns away. There is no way he is having this conversation with Janna. Not now. Not ever.

“Cheol?”

Janna’s leaning closer now, trying to make eye contact, and Seungcheol turns into the pillow and refuses to look.

He can feel the muscles in his face tighten and he tries desperately to find the casual smirk he usually tosses off when he needs to deflect. He’s been doing that all his life—it shouldn’t be that hard. He knows how to lie—it’s as natural as breathing, and yet, at this moment in time, he can’t think of anything that Janna would believe.

“Cheol?” Janna says again, and out of the corner of his eye Seungcheol can see her hand fluttering just over his knee, and he tenses, ready for the touch, but it doesn’t come. Instead there’s just a sharp, surprised inhalation, then Janna lets out a long breath and says, “You’re in _love_ with him, aren’t you?”

Seungcheol’s glad he’s turned towards the wall because he knows his face has gone pale, too open, and Janna’s not stupid, so far from stupid Seungcheol thinks even Janna underestimates how brilliant she is sometimes. The words hang in the air and Seungcheol can’t seem to find a way to laugh them off that won’t sound utterly and completely false.

Before he can think of anything to break the stifling silence that’s settled over them, Janna’s up and out of her seat, flapping her hands and pacing the room with a continuous mantra of, _“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”_ Followed by some hysterical squealing that's sharper than a hypodermic needle, some excited jumping in the air, before she’s looming back into his space and cupping his cheeks.

“Seungcheol—this is _huge_. This is so huge. This is the biggest news I’ve heard all year. You—you’re in love with the tiny pure human.”

Seungcheol wants to be exasperated, but he doesn’t think Janna’s actually trying to tease him here—she’s just stating fact, and Seungcheol knows the pounding in his chest is because he’s really, truly afraid to have this conversation out loud.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m in love with the tiny pure human.” He parrots. He intends it to sound sarcastic, maybe even snide, but it comes out distressingly _sincere_ , and he has to cover his furiously flushing face with a hand as Janna squees in delight.

"Oh, fuck me," He manages through his searing humiliation and Janna's screams of laughter.

It takes another five minutes for her to calm down enough to retake her seat, but Seungcheol knows the interrogation part of this conversation has only just started. Janna’s merciless—she won’t stop unravelling until she pulls every little detail out of him.

“Like, when— _when_? When did this happen?” She says, officially grinning like a crazy person now. 

Seungcheol shrugs one shoulder weakly, because it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight, exactly, but he does believe that there’s this _something_ in that first instant, something shivers through the ether and closes like a fist over the heart, jerks it for your attention.

He thinks about that day they first met, Jihoon arriving in his office for the wrong interview, so anxious and unprepared and yet so hopeful; Jihoon's wide, confused eyes as Seungcheol tore ruthlessly into his CV, the shy dimples that appeared as he asked for feedback, the way his face lit up when he was praised. He thinks about that tug in his chest, that inexplicable spark in the back of his throat like a flare, and how he'd known nothing about Jihoon except that he'd wanted to keep him, and how every day since has been the slow archaeology of more things to love, more things to hold close and inspect with unembarrassed delight.

“I guess you could say, pretty much from day 1.” Seungcheol finally says, feeling the corners of his mouth draw up. 

Janna’s mouth softens into an 'o' of surprise.

“Nothing’s going on though. I wasn’t lying when I told you we weren’t sleeping together.” Seungcheol continues, hoping to put a stop to this conversation before they really get the ball rolling. But Janna just blinks ambivalent brown eyes at him.

“Have you told him how you feel?” She says to him in a hush.

Seungcheol makes a face at her. “Don’t be ridiculous Janna. Of course, I haven’t.”

Janna clucks at him, then pulls her knees in so she can scoot closer on the bed. “Well, do you know if he feels the same way?”

“And how the hell should I know that exactly?” Seungcheol hears himself saying, petulant. “It’s not like I can just slip him a note before gym class. _Do you like me? Check yes or no._ ”

Janna fans herself with her hand, “Oh wow, I’m getting a hot flush just picturing you guys together.” She continues almost wistfully, not listening to Seungcheol at all. “The contrast is like… _woah_. You’re big and beefy, and he’s all… _aww_ , the cutest little thing. I mean…how does someone that pure survive in the corporate world? How? And in that little sweater vest too? That’s not someone who belongs in a stuffy office—he belongs on a package of wholesome oatmeal cookies or something.”

Seungcheol doesn't roll his eyes, but only because it's beneath his dignity. And also possibly because she might have a point there.

“Oh my god, I bet you he has a little cooking and crafts channel on YouTube! Where he teaches people to ice cupcakes and make Christmas decorations. He probably helps out in soup kitchens for _fun_. That’s how wholesome he is.”

Seungcheol decides he should cut her off right there, for the sake of his sanity. “Stop, please.”

Janna does stop, though only to cross her arms and scowl at him as if he is a particularly challenging puzzle to solve. Her expression eases with a resigned sigh. “And then there’s you, and you’re, _well_ , you’re emotionally stunted on the _best_ of days.”

Something crumples a little in Seungcheol’s chest, and he feels, suddenly, petty. There aren't many things that can make him feel that way. Rejection is one of them, vocalizing feelings is another, and being reminded of something he lacks is a third drop in the shallow pool. Being emotionally unavailable is something Janna’s always accused him of—something pretty much _everyone_ has held against him actually—and despite his best attempts, he’s always struggled to prove them wrong, to show his heart isn’t just a lump of unfeeling, humourless _coal_. He gave up trying after a while, and has been fortunate and shitty enough to have known and burned through a lot of good people in between the sheets. But that’s not something he’s prepared to do with Jihoon.

His little Peanut deserves better. He deserves the _world_.

“You’re right—I don’t deserve him.” He hears himself say.

Janna's eyebrows scrunch together in a way that's trying to be guilty and accusing at the same time. “I didn’t _say_ that.”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh, although it’s not at all funny. “You didn’t have to. I’m an asshole, I know that. It’s what works for me. Four years of marriage couldn’t change me, and nothing probably will. Even if I did by some miracle or divine intervention manage to capture Jihoon’s heart, I’ll probably break it, and that’s not something I’m ready to do.”

Laying it all on the table like that sends a sour stab of shame into the pit of his stomach. He isn’t prepared for Janna to scoff and shake her head.

“Fine. have it your way.”

Slipping off the bed, she toes on her shoes and gathers her things. She’s heading for the door when she adds, “I guess If _you’re_ not brave enough to make your move, I will. I could use more wholesome people in my life.”

Seungcheol fists his hands in the white sheets of the bed, and asks, with as little hostility in his voice as possible, “And what do you mean by that?”

Janna stops with her hand on the doorknob and turns to face him. She’s smiling now, but there’s something sinister beneath the surface.

“What are you planning?” Seungcheol narrows his eyes at her, who just sparkles her own back at him.

“Oh, nothing for _you_ to worry about Cheollie.”

Seungcheol has known her long enough to know no good can come from that. “Stay away from him Janna. He’s innocent.”

He wishes the fact that Janna only laughs in response is less creepy and more reassuring.

* * *

Jihoon’s not the paranoid sort. Not usually. But running into Janna at the dingy little convenience store that sells his favourite strawberry milk seems like _too_ much of a coincidence to be anything but carefully orchestrated.

He’s standing by the refrigerators, trying to fish out the coldest carton, when a person-shaped shadow falls across the display, blocking his view of his own reflection in the glass door.

“Hello Jihoonie wihoonie mihoonie.”

Jihoon turns around to find Janna standing there, staring down at him. She’s wearing a patterned blouse and expensive jeans, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. If she wasn’t currently holding a pack of peppermint gum, he would've thought she had entered the shop with the express intent of intercepting him.

“Hi Ms Janna.” Jihoon smiles shyly, “Uhm, how are you?”

To his surprise, she gives him a dazzling smile in return, and bends forward to kiss him on both cheeks.

“So much better now that I’ve bumped into you. What a surprise, I didn’t know you shopped here.”

Jihoon glances around at the dilapidated shelving units, the cracked floor tiles with their filthy grouting, and the ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign on the coffee machine that’s been there for as long as he can remember and grows even _more_ suspicious. There’s no way she’s a regular of Mr Mahal’s corner shop—not with her 13-inch Manalo Blahnik’s and her Hermes Berkin tote, and not with a squeaky clean 7 eleven just around the block.

But _hey_ , who’s he to judge. Maybe she’s a little more down to earth than Seungcheol. Or maybe she really just wants that stick of gum.

“Well, I don’t _usually_ come here, but it’s the only place in the city centre that sells my favourite strawberry milk and I was really craving some for lunch,” Jihoon murmurs, waving his little milk carton in view.

Janna’s smile widens to shark-like levels. “What a coincidence, I was just about to grab some lunch too, but hey, since we’re both here, what do you say you and I go grab lunch together. Get to know each other better? My treat.”

Jihoon can’t help but be surprised by the offer; a lunch date with his boss’s wife _really_ isn’t how he pictured this afternoon playing out. But he just smiles back politely, at a distance. 

“Uh, that sounds nice. But—uhm, my lunch is almost over. I was actually on my way back to work.”

“Aw,” Janna pouts, and in a quieter voice, says, “I guess I’ll just have lunch all alone then.”

“Oh no. I don’t want you to have lunch by yourself.” Jihoon shakes his head sadly, trying not to feel perturbed that Janna’s shark like smile has returned in full force.

This becomes easier when Janna’s eyes light with glee and she actually rubs her hands together. “So, you’ll come with me?”

Jihoon glances at his watch, “I’d, I’d really _like_ to, but I don’t want to be late.”

Janna waves a vague hand, “I’m sure Seungcheol wouldn’t mind if you extended it a little. It’s not like _he’s_ going to be there to scold you for returning late.” Then before Jihoon has a chance to protest, she’s opening her bag and pulling out her phone. “Tell you what. I’ll message him and ask if it’s okay.”

Jihoon fiddles with his lanyard, sheepish. “You don’t have to do that. Maybe we could arrange another time to—"

“He said yes.” Janna interjects without missing a beat.

Jihoon blinks at her. She didn’t even glance at her screen as she said it, and there’s no way Seungcheol would ever reply to a message that quickly, even before he dislocated his shoulder, so Jihoon can’t help but be a _teensy_ bit doubtful of her intentions.

“Are—are you sure?” He asks, which only makes Janna pull a persecuted expression and stares at him bleakly.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Oh no, I believe you! I just—”

“Okay then, let’s go!” Janna chirps, one corner of her mouth curling upwards as she loops her arm through his own, “I know the perfect place.”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow but lets her drag him along.

He can’t quite put his finger on it, but he gets this weird feeling he’s being kidnapped. Or abducted. Or unwittingly involved in some _other_ not so innocent ploy. The hairs are practically standing up on the back of his neck as he pays for his strawberry milk carton and follows Janna out of the shop. He hasn't had warning bells go off like this since that scary man with shifty eyes offered him a lift home in his unmarked, white van.

It probably doesn’t help than Janna stops by a news stall on the way and makes him hold up a copy of the day’s newspaper for her to photograph.

“Just need to send a pic to Seungcheol. He wanted to know the headlines.” She explains, and it sounds too casual to be deceitful, even if she is grinning like a mad Cheshire cat.

“Uhm, okay.” Jihoon murmurs, tucking his chin over the newsprint.

* * *

Switching the TV off, Seungcheol drops the remote and grinds the heels of his hands into the wells of his sleep-gritted eyes, stifling a yawn. Even though it’s only midday, he’s feeling weak and drowsy again. It’s been hard to get any sleep since the crash; he keeps waking up at odd hours of the night, bewildered by the empty, cold hospital room, sometimes shivering, sometimes in pain, sometimes just _needing_ someone to talk to–which just makes him feel all the more especially pathetic.

He begins reaching for the cell phone on his bedside table, then thinks better of it.

He has been fighting the urge to check his phone all morning, struggling to keep his eyes off the clock, distracting himself with shitty hospital TV and frustrating rounds of Smash Bros. on Jihoon’s Nintendo Switch.

It’s disturbingly fitting that he _finally_ loses his battle at the exact moment the phone vibrates at his bedside table. Two messages buzzing through in quick succession.

Seungcheol shifts a little in his bed as he reaches for it, stretching the cramping muscles in his back. He swipes open the picture message first, then stares at it, a furrow forming between his brows.

 _Why is Jihoon sending me a picture of today’s newspaper?_ He wonders. And then. _Why is Jihoon sending me a picture from Janna’s phone?_

He swipes open the text message next, reads it out loud to himself, then stiffens with almost palpable horror.

Janna  
  
Say goodbye to your little Peanut🤭  
  
He’s mine now 😏  
  


“Motherfucker!” Seungcheol snarls, whipping the bedsheets aside with an impressive bout of swearing, and rolls onto his side to a sitting position. 

A nurse pops her head through the door with a tentative “Sir? Why are you out of bed?” as he’s struggling with his pants, probably alerted to his imminent departure when he ripped the heart-rate monitor pad off.

Seungcheol stops fumbling with his belt buckle to shoot her a withering look, and says with as much gravity as he can muster, “It’s an emergency—okay. My ex-wife has kidnapped my Peanut.”

* * *

The restaurant Janna whisks him off to is an exclusive little French bistro called _L’Empreinte,_ which she pronounces in a perfect French accent, fitting perfectly with her whole killingly chic demeanour.

Usually that tables are booked up months in advance, but unsurprisingly, one little wave at the Maître D and Janna secures them the best table in the place. A quiet cordoned off spot near the back, far away from all the other diners.

“Wow. This place is really nice.” Jihoon says, as much to fill the silence as anything else. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t afford to eat here if Janna wasn’t footing the bill, and he feels a little out of place in his sweater vest, surrounded by people in sleek cashmere scarves and camel-coloured trench-coats.

Janna reclines in her chair, and Jihoon is fleetingly envious of how she can turn the simplest of furniture into her personal throne.

“Yeah, it’s one my favourites. Me and my girlfriends come here every Thursday, they serve the best Dirty Martini’s. Care for one?”

“Oh, no—I try not to drink during the day. Or at all for that matter.” He ducks his head, letting his bangs fall into his face. “I—I don’t hold my alcohol very well.”

Janna laughs, soft and musical and gone in an instant. “I’m not surprised. You’re so tiny you probably get drunk on a thimble full.”

Jihoon covers his mouth to hide his giggle. “I’m not _that_ small.”

Janna looks at him oddly. No, fondly, Jihoon decides. Janna’s eyes are soft and Jihoon can’t figure out what he’s done in the last five seconds to deserve that.

He ducks his head behind his menu as the waiter appears to take their drinks orders, but everything listed sounds pretentious and sophisticated and intensely flammable. He waits until Janna places her own order, before meeting the waiter’s impatient gaze.

“Uhm, uh, I really don’t know what to order. Do you perhaps have any sparkly apple juice?” He asks, fiddling with the menu.

The waiter quirks a condescending eyebrow at him, that has Janna scowling at him in turn; a perfectly hideous look for a perfectly lovely woman

“Well you heard the kitten—sparkly apple juice, chop-chop.”

The waiter rushes off like his ass is on fire, then reappears with two drinks. A Dirty Martini for Janna, and a tall, lightly bubbling glass with a whole stalk of rosemary in it for Jihoon.

It’s not sparkly apple juice, that’s for sure. Not nearly enough sparkles to qualify as _sparkly_ —but it’s good, a little minty, faintly bitter. Jihoon takes a few more testing sips before setting the glass down, and lifts his head to find Janna snapping pictures of him with her phone.

 _More_ pictures.

She’s actually been taking non-stop pictures of him since they left the corner shop, at a rate of five pictures a minute. Every now and then she’ll stop to type something in her phone and laugh uproariously. Jihoon has no idea what she’s doing with these pictures, but it’s making him nervous.

“Why do you keep taking pictures of me?” He's finally brave enough to ask.

Janna gives him an impish look from under her lashes. “Oh, it’s just for my Instagram story.”

Jihoon can't help but smile at that. He’s doesn’t think he’s ever featured in anyone’s Instagram story before, and definitely not someone as fashionable and sophisticated as Janna. She must have thousands of followers.

“I have Instagram too.” he says feebly.

Janna makes a noise, something amused and delighted. His lameness doesn't seem to deter her any, and Jihoon always appreciates that in a person.

“Oh yeah? What’s your handle? I’ll follow you, and we can be insta buddies.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to tell her, then clamps it shut again upon realising his error. Though he’d like to branch out and have more of a following, he cringes at the thought of Janna scrolling through his cheesy selcas, his embarrassingly huge cutesy stationary collection, and his dorky crafts and cake decorating posts. Then of course, there’s the much more damaging picture of Seungcheol in his Santa hat that he uploaded a few weeks ago.

The one he stupidly captioned _“My boss is so dreamy”_

Getting caught gushing over a married man on his Instagram, by his _wife_ , is not the drama he needs in his life right now.

Yeah, _no_ —he’ll stick with his five followers, thank you very much.

“Oh, uhm, actually—I just remembered I deleted it.” He lies.

Janna glances up from her iPhone and gives him an inscrutable look. "That’s a shame—but if you ever decide to activate it again, my handle is queenfishxxx.” She turns back to her phone before saying, “Oh, hey, can you pull a really sad face, like you’re really upset about something?”

Jihoon leans back, confused, “W-why?”

Batting her lashes, Janna says, “No reason. I just uhm…I wanna try this new filter on my phone.”

Shrugging, Jihoon does his best to look really, really sad, while Janna praises him and takes about a dozen more pictures. She types something in her phone, then cackles out loud when it buzzes in response a few seconds later.

“Oh, he did not like that.”

* * *

“Can’t you drive any faster?” Seungcheol snarls at his chauffeur.

It’s taken them forty minutes to get half-way across town—a journey which Seungcheol usually manages in less than fifteen. But since it’s New Year’s Eve, and every driver and their mother have somewhere to be, they’re literally _crawling_ through rush hour, having to stop at every traffic light.

He has— _thank fuck_ —been able to locate _where_ Janna’s taken his precious Peanut. Through the series of photographs she’s sent him, he’s caught a glimpse of the menu Jihoon’s holding—the name of the restaurant she’s stolen him away for some weird, interrogatory lunch. But it’s taking so long to get there, Seungcheol’s only a thin line of self-control away from ordering the driver to pull over, jumping into the front seat himself and mounting the fucking _curb_.

“Sir, if this really is a matter of life or death, shouldn’t we involve the police?” The driver says, sparing him an anxious glance in the rear-view mirror.

Seungcheol balls his hands into fists.

Honestly, he’s tempted to do just that. He has every _right_ to call the police and have his ex-wife arrested, because Janna has technically kidnapped his PA, and based on the most recent photograph she’s taunting him with, she’s _torturing_ him too.

His little Peanut looks so sad, like he’s just been given the worst news of his little life.

“How _dare_ she make him so sad.” Seungcheol snarls, clutching his phone in a death grip. “I’ll kill her!”

* * *

“So…how long have you worked for Seungcheol?” Janna says, dabbing her lips with a napkin. She’s hardly touched her food, but she’s already on Dirty Martini #2, and gestures to the waiter for a third.

Jihoon savours a mouthful of steak au poivre before he answers, timidly. “Uhm—almost six months.”

“Wow,” Janna breathes, pushing her plate aside. She leans forward, cups her chin in the heels of her hands, elbows resting on the table, “Six months and you’ve _already_ got him wrapped around your little finger. I’m impressed.”

She says it casually, but there’s something about it that makes Jihoon tense up all over. He feels like a rabbit on the run, caught suddenly in a snare – _snap_ —weightless and terrified.

“I don’t.” He murmurs, his voice surprisingly level for how shit-scared he is on the inside, “I don’t have him wrapped around anything.”

Janna puts a hand on his arm, soothing. “Oh Honey, I’m not criticizing you—I’m congratulating you." she murmurs to him, rubbing her thumb over his wrist bone and looking so fond of him. Her expression turns introspective as she says, “A guy like Seungcheol, it’s not easy to catch his attention, and yet, he’s got it bad, and you haven’t even had to _sleep_ with him to do it. I’d say that’s pretty damn impressive.”

At first, Jihoon thinks he’s hearing things, because there’s no way they’re talking about what he thinks they’re talking about—that would be _insane_. But when Janna’s face doesn't change, Jihoon finds himself laughing nervously despite his best efforts, “W-what do you mean?”

Janna fixes him with a look of deeply amused disbelief as the waiter arrives with her drink. She takes her glass and raises it to her lips, smirks as she takes a dainty sip, then sits up straight, folding her hands as if she’s giving a job interview.

“ _C’mon_ Jihoonie, I refuse to believe you’re this naïve. You’re Seungcheol’s PA, you’ve seen how he interacts with people, how much of a total _asshole_ he can be. Compare that to how he treats _you,_ and you must realise how he feels. And before you try and come up with any lame excuses, I know him too, okay. I was married to the man for four years, and _yeah,_ a lot has changed since the divorce, but I still know him better than anyone else. I know when he’s—”

She trails off then, making a whipping sound, then just—sits there, expectant, as though she hadn't thrown Jihoon a curve ball fast enough to achieve escape velocity.

Jihoon, too giddy with relief to bother with anything as trivial as appropriate timing, immediately blurts out, "You mean you guys aren’t married anymore?"

Janna blinks at him, lazy with surprise. “Of course not. We divorced years ago—wait,” She stops abruptly, her expression going sharp and interested. “You thought we were still _married_?”

Jihoon avoids her eyes, looks instead at the napkin on the table. “I, well—it’s just, you guys seem really close is all. You know, for divorcees.”

A hint of warmth creeps into Janna’s eyes.

“Oh, well, it _was_ an amicable separation.” She tells him, swiveling her drink idly, watching the olive swirling in the glass. “We both wanted out, and when you both know it’s time to say enough, there’s no reason for it to get messy. Besides, we’ve known each other for years; we were pretty good friends before we started dating, and we were dating for at least five years before he proposed. He only popped the question because his parents pressured him.”

Jihoon startles; he can’t imagine Seungcheol being pressured into doing anything _that_ huge.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Janna nods as if she never plans to stop. “Oh, it _is_. He told me himself. The second he proposed in fact—that’s how much of a romantic he is. I still said yes, of course—because what girl wouldn’t. He was handsome and rich, and though I wasn’t ‘in love’ with him, I had my own family pressures to contend with, and marriage seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement that would get our parents of our backs. Not to mention the sex was out of this _world_.”

“Oh, uhm, okay,” Jihoon catches the eye of one of the waiters, who has obviously been eavesdropping. The guy is totally smirking. “That’s uhm—that’s _good_.”

Janna brings her fingers to her mouth, half-obscuring her smile. “Have you seen it yet?”

Jihoon’s fingers tighten on his cutlery. “Seen what?”

“His giant cock!” Janna says with a lewd arch of her eyebrow.

Jihoon is so shocked he can't speak. He barely manages to shake his head.

“Well, you can call me when you do." Janna says, taking a sip of her drink, "Trust me, I know, I’ve been there—you’ll need all the emotional support you can get. It’s huge, it’s fucking massive—it’s thick and long and _oh my god._ I’m actually thinking of setting up a survivor’s club and handing out badges. It’s like the Mount Everest of dicks—except it’s _bigger_.”

Jihoon's parched, all of a sudden. Possibly because his mouth has fallen open.

The fork in his hand suddenly feels too heavy, so he sets it down on the table with a loud _clack._ It must be testament to how stunned he looks, because something in Janna’s gaze softens, and she pats his hand reassuringly.

“I’m sorry honey, I don’t mean to scare you.” She says, voice also soft, “You’ll be okay, he knows how to handle that thing. Oh I know, there’s nothing worse than a guy who can’t handle his merchandise, but he knows. He’s really good with it. And the foreplay is quality, he’s very skilled. He might be a little uptight when he meets your family, and kind of a douche when you introduce him to your friends, but he more than makes up for it in bed. You’ll see.”

Jihoon stares at him, brain processing the words and still failing to make sense of them because _Oh my god!_

“I—I—I’m just his PA.” He stammers, working hard to keep his voice steady. 

Janna's brows fly up, “Don’t tell me _you’re_ in denial as well.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, “Denial over what?”

Janna sighs, tipping her chair back.

“Ugh, this is going to be so much more work than I anticipated. I might need Celia’s help on this one.” She huffs, long manicured nails tapping a tattoo against the surface of the table. There’s a sharp click of the chairs legs on tile as she leans forward again, gaze suddenly intent on Jihoon. “Wait, what are you doing tomorrow?”

Jihoon fiddles with his napkin, more than a little confused. “Uhm, _working_?”

Janna looks thoughtful for a moment, nodding to herself, forehead creased. Then: “Guess we’ll have to settle for the weekend. What are you doing this Saturday?”

“I don’t really have anything planned yet.” Jihoon replies, unsure where this is going.

Janna's eyes go bright with mischief. 

“Perfect.” She announces, clapping her hands together. “I’ll speak to Celia and we can meet this Saturday. Then we can get this show on the road. Oh, I have so many plans for you!”

“What show?” Jihoon asks, and suddenly he has so many questions, cascades of them pouring out of him into the space between them. “What’s happening on Saturday? What plans?”

Janna pauses, her drink raised halfway to his lips, watching Jihoon over the rim of the glass with a mischievous intensity that makes Jihoon’s skin prickle. She then takes a large swallow of it, puts it down and says, out of the blue, “You wouldn’t happen to have any handcuffs spare, would you?”

Jihoon takes a moment to process the question, then begins assessing all the viable exits in the vicinity. There’s closest door is a fire exit a few tables away, and he’s going to have to pass right by Janna to reach it, but he thinks if he leaves his coat and bag behind, and runs really, really fast, he might just be able to escape and call the police. It’s probably very rude to run away from someone buying you lunch, but he’s going to have to because it’s become pretty clear that Janna is actually a crazy person.

Janna rolls his eyes, as if she's been listening in on Jihoon's inner monologue, “Would you relax, okay, I’m not insane. I just can’t sit by and let this blue balling torture drag out for months and months, when it’s clear you both—oh _crap_.” She hisses, casting her gaze pointedly out into the restaurant.

Jihoon follows her line of sight and turns his head to find Seungcheol standing near the front entrance, waving his hands around manically as he converses with the Maître D. He stops flailing to show the man something on his phone, who then nods and turns and points directly at their table.

Jihoon squeezes his hands together, torn between his utter relief at having Seungcheol here with him, and this terrible, choking realisation that shit is about to go down, because Seungcheol does not look happy. Like not at _all_.

His nostrils flare as he sets eyes on them, like a bull considering whether or not to charge the red flag, and as Jihoon watches, he begins weaving his way through the tables towards them, a murderous look on his face.

More murderous than usual that is—possibly because he just got out of bed?

He’s looking slightly rumpled: sporting three-day stubble, hair the tiniest bit mussed, shirt wrinkled, tie askew, like he snoozed his alarm clock one too many times, skipped breakfast, grabbed whatever clothes he could and dressed himself in the car or something.

All things considered, he’s still ridiculously attractive, and more importantly, Jihoon reminds himself with a smile, he's single. 

“How the hell did you find us so quickly?” Janna huffs when he reaches their table, then she shoots a look across the table at Jihoon and gasps. “You have him micro-chipped, don’t you!”

Seungcheol glares at her severely in the _how-fucking-dare-you_ look he normally reserves for the ancient fax machine in the office when it refuses to co-operate.

“No. But I’m strongly considering it. I almost called the police, you know!”

Janna pulls a face that just about resembles apologetic despite the fact she’s _clearly_ fighting back an enormous grin. “Oh yeah? Call the police and tell them _what_?”

Seungcheol's glower gets exponentially angrier. “That you kidnapped my PA, you _psychopath_.”

Jihoon glances between them, anxious, “Y-you mean—you didn’t say it was okay for me to have an extra-long lunch?”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to start on what looks like a rant of epic proportions, but Janna gets there first, reaching across to pat Jihoon’s hand.

“Don’t worry honey, he’s not mad with you, he’s mad with me.” She pauses briefly, casting a glance at the waiter standing nearby, discreetly motioning for another chair, “C’mon Cheollie, stop making a scene and join us. I think it’s time we all had a _nice little chat_.”

Seungcheol’s answering glare is terrifying, and before Jihoon knows what’s happening, he’s reaching out to snag him by the elbow and hauling him out of his seat, “I don’t think so. Come on Peanut, we’re leaving.”

Janna makes an indignant noise of protest, and reaches out to grab Jihoon’s free hand, putting a stop to their departure.

“Seungcheol—we could resolve this little problem right now, if you’d just stop being so _stubborn_.”

Seungcheol shoots her a serious look and says, “Janna— _enough_ ,” in a way that leaves no doubt that he means it.

Jihoon whips his head back and forth between them. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but he can almost feel the tension rising in the air. But just as Seungcheol’s temper is about to boil over, Janna releases his arm with a loud huff, apparently recognizing a losing battle when she sees one.

“Fine. Be a miserable bastard for the rest of your life. See if I care.”

Seungcheol relaxes immeasurably at that, though his glower doesn’t lessen an inch. He helps Jihoon with his coat and bag, then settles a hand at the small of Jihoon’s back, not pushing him toward the door exactly, but certainly suggesting it in very strong terms.

Jihoon goes readily, with only a single backward glance. “T-thanks for Lunch Ms Janna.”

Janna waves her fingers at him, sighing, “You’re welcome Honey. See you on Saturday.”

* * *

The limousine driver is far too professional to be anything but blandly disinterested in the way that Seungcheol more or less shoves Jihoon into the back of the car, climbs in behind him, slams the door shut and growls, “What the hell were you thinking having lunch with my ex-wife? And what the hell is happening on Saturday?”

“I—I don’t know.” Jihoon murmurs. Swallows. Thinks frantically of something reassuring to say. “She asked me if I owned a pair of handcuffs.”

Which, in hindsight, is probably the _least_ reassuring thing he could come up with.

Seungcheol pointedly looks out of the window, but Jihoon can hear him grinding his molars.

When he turns his head back around, all the angry, slightly homicidal emotion has drained from his face.

“Jihoon—I’m only going to say this one. Stay away from Janna—she’s dangerous. God knows what she was planning to do with you if I hadn’t got there in time. She could have had you chained naked in her basement, rubbing lotion all over yourself, or maybe even turned you into a fur coat.”

Jihoon cocks an eyebrow, “Uhm, I’m not sure what movie are you referencing there, but it sounds pretty creepy whatever it is. Like a cross between Silence of the Lambs and 101 Dalmatians.”

“I’m not referencing a movie, I’m referencing _Janna_.” Seungcheol butts in, expression half-way between angry and completely perplexed. “Just—stay away from her okay. If you see her walking down the street, cross it. If she calls you, block her number. If she appears to you in a dream, you better pinch yourself awake and call the police.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose, “But she seems really nice though. I thought…I was _hoping_ maybe we could be friends.”

Seungcheol squeezes his eyes shut, jaw flickering like he’s quietly grinding his teeth again, biting back whatever he might like to say. Finally he meets Jihoon’s gaze again, exhaling hard as he says, “Do you _have_ to make friends with everyone you meet? Can’t you just, I dunno, make some _enemies_ for a change?”

“But I …I don’t have many friends.” Jihoon murmurs quietly. “And Ms Janna is really cool and chic.”

Seungcheol breathes out, so long and so low, Jihoon’s surprised he has any breath left to say, “I can’t imagine you two will have much in common. What did you guys even talk about?”

“Oh, you know, this and that,” Jihoon feels his face growing warm. “ _You_ mostly.”

When he chances a look at Seungcheol, Seungcheol’s sporting an all too familiar bitch-face, like he thinks they’ve been _gossiping_ about him. But when Jihoon meets his gaze, there’s something in his eyes, just the slightest spark of panic.

“Whatever she told you about me is bullshit. Don’t believe a word she says. It’s all lies!”

Jihoon fidgets in his seat, “But they weren’t _mean_ things. They were pretty flattering things….. _Really_ flattering things actually.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow at him, then tips his head in that way that always makes Jihoon think of a Cocker Spaniel.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

Jihoon feels his cheeks colour slightly, and quickly diverts the conversation. “I hope you hung around long enough to pickup your discharge medicines. I think we’ll need more than a couple ibuprofen and my Hello Kitty ice pack to take care of your shoulder.”

Seungcheol nods, distracted, and starts digging something out of his coat pocket. He produces a small prescription bottle, a half-illegible dosage label plastered on it.

“They gave me some _Oxycontin_?” He squints at impenetrable shorthand. “I think I’m supposed to take one every 4 hours.”

Jihoon nods briefly, and waits a beat before saying quietly, “When’s the next dose due?”

“Now.” Seungcheol breathes, pocketing the bottle once more. “But they make me pretty drowsy, so I’m gonna pass. Can’t get much work done if I’m drooling all over my desk now, can I.” He adds in a soft, exasperated voice.

“ _Desk_?” Jihoon blinks at him for a moment—before he spares a look out the window and realises what direction they’re heading in. “Oh, no, no no. No way. You just got out of hospital Seungcheol, you’re not fit to go to work yet.”

Seungcheol just snorts, like Jihoon has no say in the matter. So Jihoon takes matters into his _own_ hands, and leans forward to speak to the driver. “Excuse me, could you please turn the car around? We need to take Mr Choi to his home.”

“Turn the car around and you’re fired.” Seungcheol snaps back, looking at the driver with raised eyebrows, as if daring him to challenge that.

Jihoon frowns, trying to decide just how insubordinate he can afford to be here.

Pretty insubordinate, he decides.

“Please mister—” He pleads, leaning forward to give the Chauffeur a dose of soulful kitten eyes. “Mr Choi is injured, he needs to rest. Please take him home.”

The driver meets Jihoon’s eyes in the rear-view mirror for a moment, then winces. “Sorry, Mr Choi. I can’t resist those eyes.” He says, turning on his indicators.

“Unbelievable,” Seungcheol mutters, seemingly more to himself than to anyone else, and flops back into his seat. He spends a minute or so just frowning out the window, then tips his head back against the head rest with a rather martyred-sounding sigh. "I don’t want to spend the rest of my day alone in my apartment. I get bored."

For once, the first thing that pops into Jihoon’s head is also the first thing that pops out of his mouth. 

"I can keep you company?”

Seungcheol holds silent for a long time—long enough that Jihoon glances over at him and isn't entirely sure what to make of the expression he finds on Seungcheol's face.

He looks…conflicted? A little anxious? _Maybe_?

It’s hard to say, and the uncertainty gives Jihoon pause, makes him wonder if he has overstepped. But before he can suggest an alternative, Seungcheol’s posture loosens, the line of his shoulders visibly easing.

"Company would be... nice, actually."

* * *

Seungcheol has built his career on the strict discipline of keeping everyone at a distance, everyone except family. Maybe sometimes _even_ family too. So if he has a funny feeling in his stomach knowing that Jihoon will soon be prowling around his home…well, that’s only natural.

They hit the usual afternoon traffic on the way to Seungcheol’s apartment, but Seungcheol’s never been much of a patient backseat driver, and definitely doesn’t have the patience to sit through this one. He’s been sitting in a hospital bed for too damn long to sit through a traffic jam, so after quite a bit of huffing, Jihoon finally agrees they can walk the rest of the way there.

The chauffeur drops them off a few blocks away from Seungcheol’s apartment, and they walk west toward the river, side by side.

Jihoon takes in every detail, narrating the whole way. “Ohh, that’s a cute shop. Oh and look, there’s a local florists too, and with such a lovely display in the window. I didn’t even know tulips were in season. Is that a stationery shop? I love stationery shops, I can’t leave one without buying something. Wow, the cinnamon buns in that bakery window look amazing, I can just imagine you pottering about these streets, stopping in there for some lunch.” He points at a bodega. “Is that where you buy your coffee in the mornings? Which is your favourite newsstand? Hey, I think that man is waving at us! Hello! Oh, whoops, he was waving at someone else. This is embarrassing. Oh wait, now he’s waving at us, Hello! Aww, he seems nice. What’s his name?”

Seungcheol eyeballs him. “How should I know?”

 _Jesus—he_ has never imagined that the perusal of his neighbourhood produce stand could make him feel so bizarrely exposed, but then again, this is _Jihoon_.

The running commentary continues, right up until they reach the apartment and Seungcheol shuts the door behind them. The second they step into the living area, Jihoon falls deathly silent, and Seungcheol knows his little Peanut well enough by now to know it’s not a good silence. It’s a stunned sort of silence, and Jihoon _does_ look stunned, agonized even, as he surveys the space.

Most people Seungcheol invites back to his place immediately fall into raptures over the size of the place, and if not that, then the desirable location, or the pricey minimalist décor, or the view of Seoul’s glittering skyline through the floor to ceiling windows.

Not Jihoon though.

Seungcheol can see the conflicted look in his eyes as he looks around the dull, soulless room, with its blank walls, chrome finishes and it’s sprawling empty shelves. There’s no personality at all in the plush white carpet and the smooth, stiff, white leather living room furniture.

 _Bleak_ —is how Janna described it, how Seungcheol would describe it himself if he could deign to agreeing with her about something, and he can’t imagine Jihoon would feel differently. His little Peanut is too bright and bubbly to feel comfortable in a space like this, and Seungcheol almost feels embarrassed that the only spark of life in the place is the lone cactus sitting on the coffee table. The cactus that _Jihoon_ had, in fact, gifted him.

If he was in a better mood, he’d probably offer Jihoon a tour, but there’s really no point. There’s nothing to see; for all of its superficial beauty, his apartment is just that: superficial; an elaborate, beautifully cultivated fishbowl in which Seungcheol can live and work. 

The only view really worth appreciating is the gorgeous little man standing right in front of him.

“Wait,” Jihoon turns to face him, frowning, “Where’s your bed?”

Seungcheol quirks an eyebrow, “In the bedroom?”

Jihoon blinks at him, eyes wide and bright as he processes his words.

“You mean, this is just like, the living room?”

There’s little Seungcheol can do but shrug, “Yeah. Kitchen’s through there. Dining room’s through that archway. There’s a bathroom back the way we came, and another down the hall. My room’s the last door on the left, and the other three are guest rooms.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling inexplicably sheepish. “Not that I get many guests, of course.”

Jihoon takes one more look around the room, nodding slowly. “It’s nice. Very uhm…clean. I like the chandelier.” He murmurs, tipping his chin up to stare at the lighting overhead. “It’s big and fancy, kind of like one you’d find in a hotel lobby. And uhm, this couch looks really …really sleek. Kind of reminds me of the waiting room chairs in the hospital. You know, really….comfy?”

Seungcheol huffs playfully, “You’re a terrible liar Peanut. You hate it.” He holds up a hand to stop whatever stilted apology Jihoon might've been about to make, “It’s okay, I hate it too. It’s big and empty and soulless, I know. I used to live in a much cosier place when I was married, but uhm, well, I didn’t see much point in expressing my personality when there would be nobody around to see it. Thankfully I don’t have to spend much time here.”

Jihoon’s expression turns pinched, like he feels terrible for hurting the apartment’s _feelings_.

“It’s not completely soulless.” He murmurs, glancing around, frantically trying to find something nice to say. He spots the cactus by the window and waves at it, “I—I—I like your cactus.”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking over and picking up the plant form the windowsill, patting it lovingly, “The cactus is actually my favourite thing about this room.” _Besides you, obviously_ —he carefully doesn’t say.

Jihoon spends another few minutes pointing out other things he likes, before striding right up to Seungcheol, with a knowing, fond grin, stopping barely a foot away.

They’ve been in close quarters on many occasions, but somehow Seungcheol has never quite become immune to the immediacy of Jihoon’s body. He can’t look anywhere else, and Jihoon is smiling up at him, and they’re so near, and for a second Seungcheol lets himself imagine a scenario where Jihoon would be here when he got home, where he would come up to greet him just like this, where he would stand on his tip-toes to give him a kiss, where Seungcheol would meet him half-way.

 _Maybe one day_ —Seungcheol thinks, chest aching.

“We should get you more cactusesses.” Jihoon chirps, then frowns. “ _Cactusesses_? Catusessesses?

Seungcheol feels a smile fighting its way onto his face and for once he does nothing to smother it. 

“I believe the plural is Cacti, but yes, we should.”

The expression on Jihoon’s mouth turns thoughtful as he spares a glance at the empty wall space to his left. His tongue flickers anxious and wet across his lower lip, and with his voice at a whisper he says, “And you could definitely use with more pictures on the wall.”

“Okay, sure.” Seungcheol nods, sucking his lip. “Any other suggestions?”

Jihoon’s eyes actually _twinkle_ ; he couldn’t have looked more like a cat with the cream if he’d suddenly sprouted whiskers. “How about some scatter cushions? And a few candles. And prettier curtains.”

“You know, I was _just_ thinking this place could do with a few more fire hazards.”

“Oh, oh!” Jihoon bounces excitedly, “You can get a nice rug too—a real fluffy one.”

He goes on, babbling now, words tumbling one over the other, bubbling out of him. He might not like Seungcheol’s apartment right _now_ , but he clearly enjoys the blank canvas it offers for his _ideas_. Seungcheol nods along, charmed by his enthusiasm, then brings a finger to his lips when Jihoon starts talking about mood boards and road trips to IKEA and something call _Pinterest._

“Tell you what Peanut, how about I give you my switch card and you—”

“No.” Jihoon interjects, meeting his eyes, steady and determined. “There’s no point me doing it by myself. It’ll never be _your_ home if you let someone else decorate it for you.”

Seungcheol raises a surprised eyebrow. 

When Jihoon wants something, he rarely asks outright—he leans into you, presses his whole body into Seungcheol's like a tiny pleading question mark. It’s partly the reason why Seungcheol finds it so hard to refuse him anything, and he has a momentary thought that if this were anybody else, he'd lean back, pull away, snap _‘I’m not going furniture shopping! I fucking hate furniture shopping’,_ but Jihoon’s not really asking him to do anything here. His blinking wide, blue eyes seem to say _‘I want to spend time with you’_ and any excuse will do.

“Alright." Seungcheol nods magnanimously. "You know my schedule. You pick the date.”

There is pause, in which Seungcheol notices that the tips of Jihoon’s ears have turned a delicate shade of pink, then Jihoon smiles at him, in a soft, strange way that says Seungcheol’s proven him right about something by agreeing to do whatever the hell he wants.

“C’mon, lets get you into bed.” He says, taking Seungcheol’s hand and begins to guide him down the hallway.

Seungcheol would like to point out that they’re in his home, and he should get to call the shots here. But he’s aching all over and goggle-eyed from exhaustion, and Jihoon’s voice, so feather-soft and sweet, settles over him like a warm blanket and douses any protests before he can voice them.

* * *

“I don’t feel like sleeping.” Seungcheol mumbles in a reply from where he's sitting. Or not really sitting, more like half-lying, propped up against an inexplicable amount of pillows that seem to swallow him whole. “Maybe I could do some work from bed? Could you fetch me my laptop?”

Jihoon frowns at him from where he’s standing by his bedside, adding _more_ pillows. He’s already pulled the digital alarm clock and landline out of their socket and drawn the blinds, so all that’s left to do is for him to take a seat in the armchair, arm himself with a shotgun and shoot anyone who tries to disturb Seungcheol’s convalescence.

Seungcheol wouldn’t put it past him. His little peanut is clearly determined that he will rest, whether Seungcheol likes it or not.

“The only mental exercise I will allow you now is a sudoku puzzle.” He says, producing a book out of seemingly nowhere, like the little magical pixie he is. “If you can finish it by the time I make you some tea, I’ll consider letting you have your laptop.”

Seungcheol scoffs outwardly but something in his chest curls up, tight and warm. He could get used to having his own personal nursemaid.

* * *

Seungcheol’s nowhere near finished with the Sudoku by the time Jihoon’s brings him a cup of sweet peppermint tea, and he’s only half tackled it by the time he comes back with soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, cut into neat little triangles. Which is embarrassing, because he’s got a Masters in Civil Engineering, he should _bomb_ at this numbers shit.

He’s blaming the Oxycontin he took earlier, and that apron Jihoon’s wearing. And _okay_ , Seungcheol might be a tad high from the painkillers but he's pretty sure Jihoon’s wearing an apron.

Not just any apron mind you, but a sexy French Maid’s apron. The very one the Strip-o-gram Seungmin sent him for his 39th Birthday left behind. Seungcheol had sent the stripper packing before she could finish giving him his ‘Birthday surprise’, but not before she whipped her apron off and tossed at him. And now _Jihoon’s_ wearing it, like it’s totally normal for him to be dressed like a sexy French maid in his boss' home. 

Isn’t he even _curious_ as to why Seungcheol has that thing lying around?

No, apparently not. He’s just going to _wear_ it, bring Seungcheol tea and toast and crawl across the bed on all fours to check his temperature and—

 _Inappropriate thoughts—_ Seungcheol scolds himself— _Inappropriate goddamn thoughts._

“Do you have to wear that apron?” He grumbles once Jihoon tucks the thermometer away,

“Huh? Oh, this?” Jihoon gestures down at himself with a long sweep of hand. “I found it in one the kitchen drawers. It’s the only apron you had, and I didn’t want to get soup on my sweater vest.”

“But you’re _done_ making soup now, right? You can take it off.” says Seungcheol, ears flashing red-hot in an instant at how eager he sounds.

“I guess.” Jihoon murmurs, giving him an odd look, but obligingly links his arms behind his back to untie it. He sets the apron off to the side, then scoots to the edge of the bed to pull the blinds and dim the bedside lamp. “How do you feel?” He asks, settling on the edge of the bed again, a sweet smile on his face.

Seungcheol blinks, suddenly feeling so lazy and content it's weighing down all his limbs.

“Pretty great.” He hardly gets the words out before he yawns, huge and jaw-cracking and probably unattractive. He’s aware of a low throb in his chest at the deep breath he has to take, but there’s still no real pain just yet – but that’s not going to last; and Seungcheol knows from experience that it’s seriously going to suck when the painkillers wear off.

Jihoon looks at him appraisingly, then nods at the book in his lap. “And how’s the sudoku coming along?”

Seungcheol spares the puzzle he was working on one final glance before handing it over, “Piece of cake. Could have done it with my eyes closed.”

Jihoon scans the page, then his eyes narrow analytically. “Okay, so—it’s safe to say the Oxycontin is _definitely_ kicking in. Pretty sure you’re only supposed to use _numbers_ in a sudoku puzzle Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol folds his hands over his blanket and adopts is best serious business face. “Our deal was that I finish the puzzle—which I did. So, if you please lap me my bringtop, I’d like to email my checks.”

“Aww,” Jihoon coos, eyes shimmering with unacceptable levels of fondness. “You’re so adorable when you’re all drugged up.”

Seungcheol snorts, dryly, but before he can properly protest that sentiment, Jihoon’s plucking his reading glasses from his face, rendering him annoyingly far sighted again.

“Hey, no!” Seungcheol makes a helpless grab for them, his hand flopping uselessly over the side of the bed. “C’mon Peanut—I need to work.”

But Jihoon isn’t listening. He lifts Seungcheol’s hand from where it’s flopping in mid-air and puts it carefully back on the bed. His hand is soft and cool, and the touch of it makes Seungcheol suddenly groggy.

If it wasn’t so bright out, he might sleep.

He might sleep anyway, sleep sounds good.

“That’s right, sleep _is_ good,” Jihoon tells him, lifting his arm gently and tucking something warm and lavender scented underneath. “And I warmed Larry up in the microwave, so he’ll keep you nice and warm.”

Seungcheol burrows under the covers with a huff, tucking Larry against his sore shoulder. “This is ridiculous,” he says. The words feel a little as if they’re being tugged out of him; he thinks he might be slurring them a little. “I’m a grown man, you know.”

Jihoon smiles slightly, tucking the covers around his bad shoulder, “Yes, yes you are.”

“And I don’t need anyone taking care of me either.” Seungcheol manages around a yawn. “I—I can take care of myself.”

Jihoon's blue eyes are soft and understanding. “I’m sure you can.”

Seungcheol’s eyelids droop once, twice. It’s harder, each time, to get them open again.

“You’ll…you’ll stay with me though, right?” He asks, and doesn't dare look at Jihoon when he says it.

“Of course.” Jihoon tells him, and there's _definitely_ a laugh in his voice now, and Seungcheol is about to be pissed about that until he feels a cool hand touch his face, fingers smoothing back his fringe, and Jihoon murmuring, “Poor sweet Cheollie.”

And Seungcheol, he can't help it—he leans into the touch.

God, he should be embarrassed with how needy he’s being right now, but he feels sore and achy and awful enough that he will take comfort where he can find it. Even if it’s so many levels of inappropriate, even if it’s going against every word of advice he would give his 12 year-old-self—even if it might wreck his career one day.

He’s allowing himself to have this—Jihoon, here, in his home, stroking his hair as he drifts off the sleep.

* * *

Seungcheol startles awake a few hours later to a darkened room, staring up at an oddly familiar ceiling moulding. The light coming from the hallway is casting a soft yellow glow, unlike the usual florescent brightness he was expecting, and even the sheets against his skin are softer, a higher thread-count than the starched linens of his hospital bed.

He doesn’t feel dry-mouthed or logy, the way he usually does when he wakes up from a nap. He feels...good. Rested and comfortable, his body loose and warm. The room is quiet, and when he lifts his arm, he doesn’t feel a painful tug from the cannula. He glances down to see if the needle’s slipped out, but there’s no needle, no line.

It takes a moment to remember that he’s not in hospital anymore, he’s at home—then a further moment to realize he’s not alone.

Jihoon—his little peanut, is fast asleep next to him, curled up like a hedgehog in a protective ball by his side. And if that wasn’t enough to make Seungcheol smile a mile wide, Jihoon’s holding his hand, fingers curled over Seungcheol’s open palm as he sleeps.

For a time Seungcheol simply watches, indulging the warm flicker of possessiveness expanding in his chest. And when fatigue clings beneath his skin again, he leaves his hand in Jihoon's and lets his eyes drift closed.


End file.
